Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts
by HaikenEdge
Summary: Harry Potter discovers the Player Handbook for Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, 2nd Edition after experiencing accidental magic and realizes he may have magic. Directed to a hobby shop, he develops his own style of magic based on tabletop RPGs and comics. Then, he gets his Hogwarts letter. Dark!Indie!Sarcastic!Paranoid!Pragmatic!Harry. Rated M for language and graphic violence.
1. You Don't Say?

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 1: "You Don't Say?"**

* * *

"Yer a wizard, Harry!"

Harry, the short, bespectacled boy with unruly raven locks, garbed in the ill-fitting clothes, regarded the big, hairy bear of a man who had introduced himself as Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, in the same regard as one might an adult who had just earnestly said the world was flat, or a very dull child, say, like his cousin, Dudley Dursley.

"You don't say?" said the boy in the tone one might use with a young child proudly showing a random stranger a hand turkey they had made in class.

"A wizard!" continued the big man, barreling on oblivious to the boy's tone and the changing expressions of the adults in the room.

"You don't say," Harry said again, taking off his glasses massaging his forehead with his thumb.

"Well, didja ever make anythin' happen, anythin' yeh couldn't explain…"

The boy held up a hand, interrupting Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. "So, why are you here?" he asked, already tiring of the rambly nature of the man's talking.

With a grunt of effort, Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts pushed himself off the sofa he had plopped himself onto; beneath his weight, the furniture groaned in protest, and the giant of a man reached into his pocket, pulling forth a white envelope with a red wax seal as he crossed the room to the boy. Towering over Harry, he handed him the envelope, and Harry examined the text, before turning it over and seeing the seal was already broken. Looking up at the big man, he asked, "Have you been reading my mail? That's a crime, you know."

Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts sputtered in indignation, but Harry ignored him, opening the envelope and drawing forth the letter within, unfolding it and silently reading it for merely a moment before folding the letter again. "I'm afraid you've the wrong person," said Harry, as he put the letter back into the envelope before offering it back to the hulking mass standing over him.

"What do yeh mean?" said an incredulous Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.

"The letter is to a Mr. Poffer," said Harry. "I'm Harry Potter, not Harry Poffer, though I can see why you might give the letter to me, since the envelope is addressed to me, but the letter inside is for a Mr. Poffer, and I'm not he."

"What?" said the giant of a man, opening the envelope and pulling out the letter, unfolding it and reading it. "No, this is fer yeh," said Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, pushing the letter back into Harry's hands.

"Then you should hire somebody who has better penmanship to write these letters," mumbled Harry critically under his breath. "The lower case Ts look like Fs, and the lines aren't even straight."

Silently, he read the letter to himself, then folded it back up and put it in its envelope. "I think we should go."

The tub of fat that was Vernon Dursley jumped up and started to say something, but Harry cut him off. "Uncle Vernon, this man is a wizard, so I don't think you want to antagonize him. He's already smashed his way through a door, and it's already a miracle the shotgun didn't go boom when you pulled the trigger despite the bent barrel."

Vernon Dursley might not be a bright man, but he was in no ways the dimwit who had sprung up from his loins; though he started to say something, he considered his nephew's observations and swallowed, nodding in agreement before shouting, "Get out!"

Casually, Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, pulled a pocket watch from his pocket and looked at it, then sighed. "We're a bit behind schedule," he said. "Best be off," he added, before turning to go, not even checking to see if Harry was following, though Harry was but a step behind him.

**~ooOoo~**

The return trip to England proper was by boat, and now, he was sitting on the tube, reading the letter to himself again. Once more coming to the supplies he was to have for the school year, Harry frowned. "Can we find all this in London?" he asked, looking to the eight-and-a-half-foot tall man.

Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, leaned forward conspiratorially and said, in a low voice, "If yeh know where ter go."

**~ooOoo~**

"Where ter go" turned out to be a seedy dive bar lit with candles and filled with people dressed as though they thought they were still in the Victorian era. As Harry entered behind the man he was now fairly sure either had a medical condition or wasn't wholly human, as normal people did not grow to be eight-and-a-half feet tall, the barman greeted him cheerfully.

"Ah, Hagrid," said the balding barman with an accent that sounded like his tongue was too thick for his mouth. "Usual, I presume?"

"No thanks, Tom," Hagrid called back. "I'm on official Hogwarts business." With a pat on Harry shoulder, which had enough force to feel like a rather solid thumping, he added, "Just helping young Harry 'ere buy his school supplies."

It took a moment for Harry to place the expression on the barman's face, and even then, he wasn't sure if it was genuine surprise, gratitude, or if his face was just frozen from too many botox injections. Nonetheless, the barman exclaimed, "Bless my soul! It's Harry Potter!"

Suddenly, every conversation in the pub ground abruptly to a standstill as eyes and faces turned towards him. Then, the man sitting closest to him reached over and took his hand, shaking it vigorously.

"Welcome back, Mister Potter, welcome back," said the man shaking Harry's hand.

"You don't say?" was all the boy managed before another voice pulled his attention to a woman at the bar.

"Doris Crockford, Mister Potter; I can't believe I'm meeting you at last," said the woman, also taking his hand and shaking it.

"You don't say?" managed Harry, stepping backwards and bumping into Hagrid's gut. Then, he was swarmed by well-wishers and grateful souls.

Thin man in a turban inched his way through the crowd, before finally coming to a stop before the boy. "Harry… Potter," said the man, in what Harry could only describe as a bad stutter. "C-can't tellya how... pleased I am to meet you."

"Neither can I," said Harry, before sarcastically thinking to himself, _I'm not a mind-reader here_.

"Hallo, Professor," said the big lumber man to the thin turbaned man. "I didn't see yeh there." Turning to the small boy, he added, "Harry, this is Professor Quirrell; he'll be yer Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Harry gave the turbaned man a once-over, then sighed in disappointment. If this was standard of professors employed by the "finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world", as Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, had said, particularly for a subject that sounded as important as "Defense Against the Dark Arts", then Harry wondered what standards were like in the rest of the world. Nonetheless, he offered a hand to the professor and said, "Nice to meet you."

Professor Quirrell, Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, wrung his hands and stuttered a response, but Harry was already ignoring him; already, he found the stuttering annoying, and he wasn't in a class he taught yet.

Hagrid said something, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder, but Harry wasn't really paying attention to the words; he was too busy looking around the tavern and observing just how badly lit and dilapidated the whole thing was, shuddering inwardly at the idea of using candles for a primary form of illumination. _This_ was the world in which witches and wizards live, a world with perpetual bad lighting and LARPers? Nonetheless he let himself be pulled along, through a door into a blind alleyway of a few barrels, glass barrels and three brick walls.

"How'd those people know me?" asked Harry, as soon as the door closed behind them and he and Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, were alone in the blind alley.

"See, Harry, yer famous," said the lumbering lunk, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"You don't say?"

That conversation died an awkward and painful death as the very tall and portly man pulled a pretty pink umbrella from the inside of his coat and began prodding the wall. As he finished, the bricks began to rotate, then parted, forming an archway..

"Welcome Harry, ter Diagon Alley."

The streets suddenly revealed to him looked like they had been plucked from the pages of a Jules Verne novel with its lanterns hanging from the side of buildings to the facades on the shops crammed together along the street. For a moment, Harry thought he was at a steampunk LARPing event, then realized it was unlikely given the immense number of people in robes, which were most certainly not Victorian fashion, and he followed Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, down the street, ignoring his babbling as he looked around, more in disillusionment than wonder. How was it the world of witches and wizards were so far behind modern times?

As they walked by the row of shops, something struck the young raven-haired lad. "Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, how am I to pay for this?" he asked.

"Yeh can call me Hagrid," said Hagrid, before pointing at a building not far ahead. "There's yer money, Harry. Gringotts: the wizard bank," he continued, before Harry cut him off.

"I know how to read; I know that's a bank," said the boy. "How specifically am _I_ supposed to pay, when I don't have any money?"

"Yeh didn't think yer mum an' dad would leave yeh nothing, didja?" said Hagrid, as they entered the bank; inside was a spacious hall filled with many stations manned by numerous bipedal creatures shorter than Harry, who himself was small for his age, with large, erect ears pointing in points and noises ending in points, many of whom were bald or balding.

"Um, Hagrid, what exactly are these creatures?" asked the small child, looking from creature to creature cautiously as the two strode past the innumerous stations where robed seemed to be conducting their own business.

"They're goblins, Harry," said the gigantic man, who looked even more ridiculous when walking by the creatures who barely came up to his waist. "Clever as they come, goblins, but not the most friendly of beasts."

Up until then, Harry had thought Hagrid nice, but hearing him describe clearly sapient creatures as "beasts", he couldn't help but wonder if the tall man was a racist, or if the entire society was strangely backwards.

Striding up to the station at the back of the bank, Hagrid cleared his throat, leading the teller to look up with an expression of annoyance. "Mister Harry Potter wishes ter make a withdrawal," said Hagrid.

Standing up and leaning over the high podium to look down at Harry, the goblin asked, "And does Mister Harry Potter have his key?"

Looking up at the goblin banker with their sharp-toothed mouth, Harry found himself comparing the creature to the pictures he had seen in some illustrations and realized, aside from having hair and a completely different skin color, the goblins he was seeing weren't all too different than what he had seen before, even if those goblins clearly weren't real goblins. Helplessly, Harry shrugged, hands up and palms out, his expression one of powerlessness.

It took Hagrid a moment to realize something was amiss, and another to jog his memories, before he reached into his coat and began to dig around in the pockets. "Wait a minute," he said as he pawed his person. "Got it here somewhere…"

After a long moment of searching, Hagrid's expression brightened, and he pulled a small, ornate gold key from his coat, holding it up. "Here's the little devil."

"Wait, why do you have my key?" asked Harry suspiciously. "I've never met you before today."

"Why, Albus Dumbledore gave it me, Harry," said the big hairy barrel of a man, as though it explained everything.

"Who the hell is 'Albus Dumbledore'?" asked the small boy, growing increasingly suspicious.

"Why, Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard…," gushed Hagrid, only to be interrupted by an increasingly exasperated Harry.

"No, I mean, why does a fucker who I've never met in my life have my key?" snarled Harry, then cut off Hagrid before he could say anything else. "You know what? I don't want to know. But when we finish, I'm taking my fucking key."

"But Harry…"

"Hagrid, is that Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard,'s key?" asked Harry in a tone one might use to explain something to a small, stupid child of five years still struggling to learn numbers.

"No, but…"

"Is that Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts,'s key?"

"Well, no..."

"Is that Harry Potter's key?"

"Well, yes…"

"Motherfucker, are you Harry Potter?"

"No…"

"And am I Harry Potter?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then give it here before I tell the bank manager here Rubeus Hagrid and Albus Dumbledore are conspiring to take unlawful possession of Harry Potter's Harry Potter's key."

"Gringotts Wizarding Bank frowns upon those who interfere with Gringotts business," added the bank manager, giving the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts a withering look.

A moment of indecision hanged in the air as Hagrid seemed to weigh his options. Then, his shoulders slumped slightly, and Harry knew he had won. "I guess it wouldn't hurt…"

It took Hagrid a moment to gather himself, before something seemed to dawn on him. "Oh, and there's something else as well," said the man as he pulled a twine-tied envelope out of his coat, holding it up and shaking it slight as he spoke, his voice low and conspiratorial, like he was telling a secret. "Professor Dumbledore gave me this. It's about you-know-what in vault you-know-which."

It was at this moment Harry Potter decided Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, might well be simple but almost certainly never to be trusted with anything discrete or important. Even if he was speaking softly, there was every possibility Hagrid could be overheard, and yet he openly talking about something he very clearly wanted to keep secret out in the very public and very busy lobby of the bank, and he had just been browbeaten into submission by a small child.

Harry Potter shook his head in dismay, much to the enjoyment of the goblin at the workstation.

**~ooOoo~**

One uncomfortable ride in a mining cart later, not unlike what he imagined a roller coaster might be like if it were to have no safety precautions, Harry Potter found himself standing before an open vault containing heaping mountain of coins, Harry Potter's key in Harry Potter's pocket.

"All yers," said Hagrid proudly, as though he himself had something to do with the accumulation of the fortune piled high inside the vault.

Ignoring the big, portly man, he turned to Griphook, as the goblin who accompanied them to the vault had been called by the bank manager, and asked, "What denomination are these?"

"The gold ones are Galleons, the silver ones are Sickles, and the bronze ones are Knuts," answered the goblin.

Gold, silver and bronze? It was almost like their currency system were from an age long gone. Metal coins were heavy, and paper money had been in circulation for a very long time, so why were witches and wizards using such a backwards method for economic transactions?

Ignoring the burning economic questions, Harry turned towards Hagrid. "How much of this am I going to need for my school supplies?" he asked.

The large man did not answer, but instead scooped a sizable heap of coins into a bag before dropping into Harry's hands, then turned to Griphook and said something, ignoring the small boy struggling with weight of a bag of gold pieces. Once again, Harry found himself bundled into the minecart with the lunk and the goblin.

Another white-knuckle ride in the minecart later, they reached their destination, a vault with no keyhole in its door, but not before the giant of a man's face had started showing signs of nausea and distress. By this time, though, Harry was busy with his own thoughts, so he paid no mind to the words exchanged around him, but his curiosity was piqued when the vault opened, and instead of something obviously valuable, the vault held no more than a brown-paper-wrapped package, no larger than Hagrid's hand, which he used to pick it up.

And then, another minecart ride followed, and the rather large breakfast Hagrid had eaten that morning vacated his stomach through his mouth.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This story is based on a story pitch written by a friend of mine, Shinshikaizer, and posted on r/HPFanfiction. Together, he and I worked out the full mechanics of the magic system Harry would use if he had developed his own magical system based on tabletop RPGs (namely, _Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition_, _Ars Magic: The Art of Magic_, and _Shadowrun_, all of which were published prior to 1991); though he wrote the original prompt for the story, he left the details to me and agreed that I should have full creative control of the story, so I chose to write what Harry Potter might be like if he had spent three years of his life at a hobby shop when he wasn't at home or school.

Credit and thanks to Shinshikaizer for writing the original pitch.


	2. Hunter Whiplash

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 2: Hunter Whiplash**

* * *

The small raven-haired boy found himself alone in Diagon Alley, a heavy bag of gold in hand. Rubeus Hagrid, having tossed his cookies, had begged off to drink at the pub, and though he had suggested Harry get his uniform, the boy had other ideas. Mainly, to do something about the sack of galleons he was lugging around, because he was quite sure he could use it as a blackjack and bludgeon somebody to death from the sheer weight of it, though he also asked himself whether he wanted to follow the instructions of somebody who shamelessly declared they needed to go day drinking to a wee child and whether he really should go to a school that employed such an alcoholic.

So, alone in the sea of people dressed like steampunk LARPers thronging in the streets lit by lanterns despite being in the daylight hours, Harry looked around and wondered just why nobody seemed too concerned at an unattended child wandering about on his own and decided he really did not want to think too deeply about it, particularly if it reflected on magical society's views towards children. Nonetheless, he wandered the street on his own, looking into shops through their display windows to determine what they sold; only when he found a display window filled with various trunks and other pieces of luggage did he enter a boutique.

The young woman at the counter started what was likely the store's standard greeting but stopped herself at the sight of the small boy clutching a large, misshapen sack. "Hey," she said, in as reassuring a tone as she probably could. "What's a boy like you doing wandering around all alone? Where's your mom and dad?"

"Daddy died in the war, and mama's busy with the biz, meetin' diplomats and other such folk," said Harry, adopting an exaggerated drawl like one might have if they came from the American south and a bright smile. "The alcoholic uncle Ah came to Diagon Alley wit' went day drinkin' after he blew chunks all over a goblin's loafers."

The young witch looked taken aback at the boy's airy tone. "You know… a lot of complicated words," she said, after a moment.

"Well, Miss, Ah've many smart friends," Harry replied, looking around the shop before turning back towards the young woman. "Listen," he said. "The drunk Ah came to Diagon Alley wit', God bless his soul, being an imbecile, filled this here rather large sack wit' many gold pieces and gave it to a small child, namely myself. Now, Ah imagine you's an intelligent woman, so Ah reckon you can figure out how this might be a prah'lem. Hell, Ah'll even give yous three guess, and the first two won't even hafta count."

The young woman stared at the rather rude boy in front of her, carrying a heavy-looking sack with both hands, and the answer quickly dawned on her. "It's very heavy," she said.

"Got it in one, Miss," said the boy. "Now, this seems like the type of place one might go to buy thangs that can hold other thangs, and as you've surmised, Ah need somethang to hold this here sack of coins, and all the school supplies Ah'm about to buy, Ah reckon. Ah mean, bless his poor soul, but what kind of bakebrain sends a small child to buy school supplies without getting somethang to hold those supplies in first?"

The young woman wasn't sure how to answer the question, then decided it was rhetorical and thought better of it. "I'm sure I can help you find something that'll suit your needs," she said with the smile of somebody who was used to working retail. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, Mister..."

"Oh, where are mah manners?" said Harry with feigned chagrin. "Mama would be so disappointed in me for not introducin' mahself." Taking the young woman's hand in his, he leaned forward slightly as he kissed the air above the back of her hand. "Hunter Whiplash, of the Louisiana Whiplashes. It is an absolute pleasure to make yer acquaintance."

"Constance Corbyn," said the young woman, blushing fiercely as she pulled her hand from the small boy's, "Mister Whiplash, do you know what kind of trunk you're looking to purchase?"

"Miss Corbyn," said the now-named Hunter Whiplash with a smile, "Ah'm sure the trunks ya sell in this here shop are of the fahnest quality, but a trunk is but a trunk, and if ya put it down, you might forget ya had it. No, Miss, Ah would like to purchase somethang not unlike a haversack or a rucksack, something with one or more straps so Ah don't lose mah luggage just because Ah put it down and forgot Ah had it wit' me."

"I believe we have some of those in the back," said Constance, as she led the way to the back of the shop where rows of various bags hung from the wall by hooks.

"Wonderful," said Harry-as-Hunter-Whiplash. "Now, Miss, wouldja be so kind as to educate me about these products in this here fine shop?"

"Certainly, Mister Whiplash," said the young saleswoman. "All of our bags are charmed with a Featherweight Charm and an Extension Charm, which make them light as feather and capable of holding much more than their size would suggest."

"And just how much more could such a bag hold?" asked Harry-as-Hunter-Whiplash.

"As much as you need it to, Mister Whiplash," said Constance.

"That surely is a mighty handy haversack," said the boy, as he took one from where it hung on the wall, a black leather number with seemingly one large compartment, two smaller ones and straps and buttons to secure all of them. Holding the bag by the shoulder strap, he heft its weight, then nodded to himself in satisfaction. "Ah believe Ah shall purchase this one here. However, Ah still need somethang to hold all my gold pieces."

"I believe a Mokeskin pouch would suit your needs, Mister Whiplash," said Constance. "We've an assortment of them, right by the till."

Harry-as-Hunter-Whiplash followed Constance Corbyn to the register, and like the young woman said, there were a variety of scaly-materialed bags, pouches and purses on display, before picking up a black pouch on a thin silver chain. "Miss, am Ah correct in believe these pouches too are charmed with a Featherweight Charm and an Extension charm?"

"Yes, Mister Whiplash," said the saleswoman.

"Then, Ah shall have this pouch as well as this handy dandy haversack."

"That will be one hundred twenty Galleons," said Constance.

Harry-as-Hunter-Whiplash placed the heavy sack of gold pieces onto the counter, then counted out the appropriate number of gold pieces, before counting out an additional twenty Galleons and pressing them into the young woman's hands after she had finished the transaction. While he loathed to waste money, it was certainly something he knew Hunter Whiplash would do. "A tip, for your fine service," he said, before the young woman could protest, before he opened the small black pouch and poured the contents of the sack he had withdrawn the gold from into it before lifting the chain up and over his head, letting it settle behind his neck before he lifted the pouch off the counter and tucked it under his shirt.

"Thank you again for your fine service," said Harry-as-Hunter-Whiplash with a bow as he departed from the luggage store. "Have yourself a mighty fine day, Miss Corbyn."

**~ooOoo~**

Flourish and Blotts was the bookstore Harry had been directed to by a stranger on the street when he had asked where he could purchase the books necessary for a first-year student attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Once inside, he felt a certain sense of greed as he enviously eyed the shelves stacked to the ceiling with all manners of tomes. Thus, like every time he went to a bookstore or a library, he found an appropriate book and then plopped himself down on the floor to read it.

In this case, the book was one entitled, _Harry Potter: The Boy-Who-Lived_, which purported to tell his life story, but was fictional, as far as he could tell, though he did learn a few things from it, particularly when he cross-referenced it with several other books, also supposedly about him.

Apparently, Harry had, at the tender age of fifteen months, somehow "stopped" some kind of dark lord whose name he couldn't find because every book vacillated between calling him "You-Know-Who" and "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named". The books also all mentioned this dark lord had slain Harry's parents just prior to being stopped by the toddler, and was a terrible monster of a man who had killed many others. However, beyond these two points, the books agreed on little else; some had him as a hero traversing the world and saving damsels in distress and slaying monstrous creatures, while others imagined him living a quiet life with relatives in Scotland.

So focused was Harry on the books he had laid out before him that he didn't even notice the girl with bushy hair standing in front of him, impatiently tapping her foot, until she cleared her throat.

With a start, Harry jumped to his feet, immediately slipping into Hunter Whiplash and his southern drawl. "Pardon me, Miss," he said, quickly extending a hand. "Ah di'n't see you there. Mah name's Hunter Whiplash. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The girl gave Harry a quizzical look as she took his hand. "Hermione Granger," she said, shaking his hand with a soft one of her own. "You have the fakest sounding accent from the American South I have ever heard, and a name so obviously fake, I can't believe anybody would believe it was real."

"Curses, foiled again!" said Harry darkly, realizing his cover had been blown. Looking into the brown-haired girl's eyes, he saw what he thought might be a spark of intelligence, something that had been sorely missing from his cousin and his uncle, and decided to make a gamble. "Listen, Hermione Granger," he said, looking around to make sure nobody was listening as he lowered his voice and leaned in conspiratorially, letting his Southern drawl drop completely. "Can you keep a secret?"

Obviously intrigued, the girl, no older than Harry himself, leaned inwards as well. "I can. And it's just Hermione."

"I'm actually Harry Potter," whispered the-boy-titled-"The-Boy-Who-Lived" directly into the girl's ear, before pulling back and holding up the book in his hand to show the cover, letting her read the title of it, _Harry Potter: The-Boy-Who-Lived_.

"Then why would you introduce yourself as Hunter Whiplash?" Hermione whispered back, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"As you can see from all these books, I'm apparently very famous," whispered the small boy, gesturing towards to the books laid out around him. "The last time somebody said my name in a public place, people swarmed me like I was giving away the secret to eternal youth. And I don't like being swarmed by strangers I don't know who want to touch me; it's creepy and weird."

"That makes sense," said Hermione, pulling back. Then, with a mischievous smile, she said, "So, Mister Hunter Whiplash, would you be so kind as to move aside? You're blocking some of the books I need for school."

It took a moment for Harry-as-Hunter-Whiplash to register what those words meant exactly; then, he dropped into the a crouch, quickly gathering the books he had strewn around the floor. "Shiet, Ah forgot Ah was here ta buy school books," he said, once again assuming the accent. Then, realizing she already had a stack of books with her, he said, "Mayhaps Ah can be of assistance, Miss Granger. Please allow me to carry at least some your books while you continue to find the books you wish to purchase."

Together, the two went about the shop, taking from the shelves the books Hermione needed as well as the ones she found to be of interest. As they neared the counter, Hermione frowned. "Mister Whiplash, you have no books," she observed, meaning all the books he carried were for her alone. "Didn't you say you needed to buy the ones for school?"

Harry-as-Hunter-Whiplash gave her a crooked smile. "Ah've this under control," he said airily. "Jes' wait, you'll see."

Together, they waited their turn, and after Hermione had made her purchase, for a total of fifteen Galleons, he said to the clerk, in Upper Received Pronunciation, "I would like to purchase one of everything."

Hermione gasped, and the clerk opened his mouth to say something, though nothing came out for a moment, before he swallowed and croaked out, "One of everything?"

"I am here on the behalf of Mister Harry Potter," said Harry. "He is currently indisposed as he is at a meeting at Gringotts Wizarding Bank, but if you would be so kind as to charge the purchase and deliver his books to his vault there, and he will take the ones he requires for his schooling as well as any he might be interested in for his own personal perusal when he has time. Please be so kind as to categorize the purchase by subject matter, sorted in order of difficulty of the content of the book, with the simplest on the top and the most challenge at the bottom, and to stack the books from the Hogwarts curriculum closest to the front of the vault, sorted separately by year, with the lowest nearest to the door."

Hushed whispers rippled through the customers of Flourish and Blotts at the sight of the posh-sounding-yet-poorly-dressed valet of the legendary Boy-Who-Lived, a young boy in the service of another boy who clearly had more important things to do than do his own shopping.

"Certainly, I can do that for Mister Potter," said the clerk quickly, and Harry instantly knew his gambit had paid off.

"Thank you," said Harry, before turning to go. "Miss Granger, I may be of assistance..."

**~ooOoo~**

Outside Flourish and Blotts, the two children carrying books were met by a tall man and a woman of average height; though Harry did not recognize them, Hermione clearly did, and from that, the small boy surmised they were her parents.

"Missus and Mister Granger Ah presume," said Harry-as-Hunter-Whiplash, nodding to each as he addressed them and receiving a nod from each of them. "Mah name's Hunter Whiplash. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Ah'd shake your hands, but as you can see, mine be full."

"Here, let me take that," said Mister Granger, and Harry-as-Hunter-Whiplash let him take the stack of books he had been carrying. Looking down at the boy, he said, "Why are you…"

Before he could finish, Hermione was tugging on his sleeve and leaning up; realizing his daughter wanted to tell her something, he leaned over and the girl whispered into his ear at length before his eyes widened almost imperceptibly before he stood back up and grasped Harry's hand in a firm grip. "Thank you for helping our Hermione with her books," he said, before turning to his wife as she frowned and whispering something in her ear, which only deepened her frown for a moment, but she nonetheless shook the boy's hand.

"Tell me, Missus and Mister Granger," said the boy in his drawl. "Didja plan on carryin' these books by hand while ya did yer other shopping?"

"We had thought they'd provide us with bags for the books," admitted Hermione's mother, who had taken the stack of books her daughter had been carrying.

"That is fair, Ah suppose," said Harry-as-Hunter-Whiplash, with a seemingly sage nod. "Well, if you would allow me, Ah can take ya to a fine shop selling various pieces of luggage enchanted to hold far more inside than their outside would suggest."

Hermione's parents looked at another before they nodded to Harry in unison; apparently, had silently agreed a container of some sort that was bigger on the inside would most certainly help them in their shopping trip.

**~ooOoo~**

"Five hundred pounds sterling!" vented Mister Granger in frustration as the two adults and two children exited the store selling charmed luggage. "Five hundred pounds sterling!" he repeated, as if for emphasis.

Harry wasn't quite sure how much money that was, because he had never really been allowed to handle money before, but the way Mister Granger spat out the number, he couldn't help but think it a high one.

"Perhaps you should think of an investment in the future," said Harry, letting slide his Southern drawl and slipping into his regular received pronunciation. "Hermione will need such a trunk at some point in the future, and the price will inevitably rise with inflation; since she's going to need the trunk anyways, you might as well buy it now and get a few extra years out of it. Besides, you heard the saleswoman; the trunk is guaranteed for life."

A momentary hush hung the air as the people accompanying Harry digested what he had said. Then, Hermione's mother said, "That's a very enlightened view."

"Ah happen to be good friends with a professor of economics," drawled Harry with a smile. "Now, shall we go and purchase our other equipment?"

**~ooOoo~**

It wasn't long before they had purchased cauldrons, scales, telescopes and phials; as the purchases had been smaller and with fewer gold pieces, Harry could remain Hunter Whiplash while he made the purchases. Still, as he, Hermione and her parents made their way towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, which had been recommended by the sales clerk in another shop, Harry found his stomach tying itself in knots at the prospect of having to face the large lunk named Rubeus Hagrid.

The reunion went just as badly as he had expected.

"Harry!" blubbered the big man as he rushed to envelope the small boy in a bear hug, fat tears running down his cheeks, which were flush, likely from the alcohol he had consumed. "I thought I lost yeh! Why'dja wander off?"

"Because you wanted me to buy my uniforms when I didn't have anything to put them in while you went and had yourself a drink for a pick-me-up," snarled the boy as he extracted himself from tearful man's embrace, his Southern drawl having vanished without a trace. "What were you expecting me to do, carry them around in my hands while I bought everything else? It's not as though I knew how long you were going to take or how drunk you were going to get."

Behind Harry, Hermione's parents seemed uncertain whether they should be appalled at the small boy's rude behavior or outraged at the crying giant for abandoning a child in a busy shopping district to go day drinking, before they decided on the latter and let the big, hairy man have a piece of their mind. Harry, however, was already not paying attention to the stern lecturing the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts was receiving, as he was already walking into the seamstress' shop, while Hermione looked torn over whether she should follow Harry into the shop or stay with her parents while they berated the shaggy-bearded man, though when it became fairly clear they would be a while, she followed after the small boy.

"Hogwarts, dear?" asked the squat, smiling woman bedecked in a mauve robe.

"Something like that," said Harry. "Must be getting a lot of them, tho, if that's your first guess."

The woman chuckled as she pointed Harry to the back of the shop, where a younger woman beckoned while the older one turned towards Hermione and gave a similar greeting. Wordlessly, Harry joined the woman who had beckoned him, and, at her direction, stood on a footstool as Hermione soon joined him on the one nearby.

"Harry, that was quite rude what you did back there," chided Hermione, as the younger woman dropped a long robe over her head and began to pin it to the right length, while the older woman did the same to the raven-haired boy.

"He was the one who decided to get drink and leave a small child in a strange, crowded place," Harry countered. "If nothing else, that's child endangerment, which is a crime where I'm from."

Hermione found she could only nod in agreement; clearly, Harry had the law on his side, so she decided to change the subject. "Why did you buy all those books at Flourish and Blotts?"

"Because I could," said the boy flatly, "because knowledge is power, and because I'm sure there'll be something useful in most of them."

"But how could you buy all those books? It must have cost a fortune!"

"I found out just today that I'm apparently extraordinarily wealthy," the small boy said flatly. "Giant-heaps-of-gold-pieces-stacked-almost-to-the-ceiling-of-a-quite-large-bank-vault wealthy. And I once asked a man who owns a similar shop how much his inventory cost; he told me it was close to twenty-five thousand pounds. After taking into consideration the eight books you purchased for school totaled only fifteen gold pieces, and that I may well have inherited millions of pounds, if not more, it seemed a reasonable guess I could afford the purchase; it's not as though there are many things I'd really want that would be as helpful to me as the books."

"Why did you say you were in a meeting at Gringotts? Why not just take the books to the clerk and buy them there?"

"Can you imagine how many books that would be?" asked Harry with a chuckle. "I wouldn't want to wait for them to retrieve a copy of every single book they have in stock, then have to count out the exact number of gold pieces it would take to pay for them. Easier to just have them ship it to my vault and take the payment from it themselves; saves me time to do other things.

"But to do that, I needed to establish which vault the purchase was to be charged and sent to without giving away my identity, because I did not want to be swarmed again," continued Harry. "That meant I had to create an excuse for why I wasn't at Flourish and Blotts and had sent a servant in my stead. A meeting at Gringotts sounds important, don't you think? And that establishes the idea of Harry Potter having a vault, which is perfect for what I wanted to do."

"How did you know they'd believe you were a servant, though?" asked the bushy-haired brunette, clearly already mull over what Harry had said.

"Karen always tells me, when you're playing a part, you need to have confidence in being the character," the boy explained. "If you don't believe you're them, why would anyone else? It's mostly a matter of having confidence and acting like you belong there, and if they think you don't, showing them they're very clearly wrong. It's a confidence trick, in a way; you hook the mark by playing to their expectations, and then you exploit the holes in their perception. I told the clerk I worked for Harry Potter and I made him believe Harry Potter had a vault, so I was able to convince him to sell me the books without first confirming my identity as a representative of Harry Potter; because the clerk knew Harry Potter was famous, he accepted the idea he might have a servant and be a busy person, so he didn't question why a child was sent to purchase books in his stead. The clerk accepted Harry Potter would have somebody else buy his school supplies for him if he was busy, and thus it never even dawned on him I myself might be Harry Potter, because surely someone as famous as Harry Potter wouldn't be dressed in hand-me-down clothes barely fitting him."

"That doesn't sound very nice," said Hermione, distractedly.

Harry started to answer back, but was interrupted when the short, mauve-dressed woman said, "That's you done, my dear."

Stepping off the stool, Harry doffed the robe and folded it neatly before handing it to the woman who had been marking the alterations to be made. "How long will it take to make the alterations?" asked the boy. "Also, the supplies list requires I have a total of three sets of robes, a pointed black hat, a pair of protective gloves and a black winter cloak with silver fasteners; where can I find those?"

"It'll only be but a moment," said the mauve-dressed woman holding the robe. "All we need to do is use a Severing Charm to cut the robe to the correct length, then repeat the process for the additional robes. As for the gloves, the hat and the cloak, you can find those on the counters."

"Thank you for your assistance," said the small boy with a nod. "I'll be back for the robes."

Going into the racks in the store, Harry is soon joined by the bushy-haired brunette. "What do you still need to buy?" asked the boy, as he flipped through the cloaks on the tables.

"I bought my wand first thing," said the girl, "so I think I have everything I'll need for Hogwarts."

"Well, I think this is where we parts ways, then," said Harry. "I still need to procure a wand."

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts," said Hermione wistfully.

Harry caught her tone. "Or, perhap we could meet again before the school year?" he suggested, and as Hermione nodded eagerly, he added, "I'll find some paper and a pen, and you'll give me your phone number so we can arrange something?"

Hermione nodded, and Harry went off to find something to write with and on.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** My writing style is hugely influenced by cyberpunk fiction. Because of this, plot elements will often show up without explanation at the time, only to be better supported in the future of the story. For example, Harry is hugely suspicious of authority figures (as vaguely demonstrated by the first chapter); why he is this way is touched upon in a later chapter, so it's not as though he dislikes authority for no reasons, just that the reason hasn't been explained yet.

My thanks to Shinshikaizer for writing the original pitch, and my friend goalie12345 for editing.


	3. Wands and Wizards

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 3: Wands and Wizards**

* * *

Having said his goodbyes to Hermione, her phone number tucked inside one of the smaller pockets of his haversack on a scrap of parchment and his own purchases carefully placed inside the large pocket, Harry exited Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions to find himself once again in the presence of Rubeus Hagrid, who quickly pushed a large cage holding a snowy owl into the boy's hands.

"A birthday present," the big man announced proudly. "All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Harry started to reprimand the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts for getting him a "gift" that would lay upon him even more responsibilities than he already had and would likely be hated by those he lived with, who would no doubt consider an owl a "freakish" pet, but thought better of it; after the emotional roller coaster the big man had been on since the probable physical roller coaster that was the Gringotts mine cart, he very clearly needed a win.

"Thank you, Hagrid," said the raven-haired boy.

"Don' mention it," said the big man, who continued on, but Harry had tuned him out; he was already on his way to the shop that sold wands, and the faster he could get away from the lunk with limited emotional self-control, he happier he would be.

Ollivanders: Maker of Fine Wand since 382 B.C. did not appear to be the cleanest or safest of stores, but the big lunk had insisted it was the only place for wands.

From far in the back of the shop, a bell plinked as they stepped inside. Warily, Harry looked around the dusty interior, eying the boxes filling the shelves lining the walls of the shop; likely inside one of those would be a wand he would be calling his own. Meanwhile, Hagrid plopped himself down onto the only piece of furniture in the room, a frail-looking chair that groaned under the gigantic man's weight.

"Good afternoon."

Instinctively, Harry's head jerked in the direction of the voice, and for a moment, he felt a sharp pain in his neck, like he had given himself whiplash, and his hand instantly went to massage it while he eyed the old man who had appeared before him.

"I wondered when I'd be seeing you, Mister Potter," said the old man with unkempt grey hair.

"You don't say?" said Harry flatly, but the old man was already going on about Harry mother and her wand, before getting uncomfortably close and talking about the boy's father and his wand.

Suddenly, the man reached to touch his forehead, frowning. "And that's where… But where?"

Harry jerked backwards at the unwanted touch. "It's a scar," he growled, worried the old man might well be a paedophile. "They fade with time."

The old man started rambling again, turning to Hagrid and asking about his wand, before turning back to the small boy and pulling out a tape measure. "Which is your wand arm?" he asked.

"Never used a wand before, so I don't know."

The old man cocked his head to the side quizzically, then rephrased his previous question as, "Which hand do you write with?"

"I write with my right," said Harry, smiling almost to himself at the pun.

"Hold out your arm," said the old man, and Harry complied, tuning him out as he went about his business measuring and babbling at the same time. It was only after a few moments, when the measure was measuring his nasal septum, that he realized the old man had stepped away and was gathering boxes from the shelves, and the boy slapped the tape measure to the floor, where it laid in a tangled heap.

"Right then, Mister Potter," said the old man as he handed the boy a long, thin piece of wood before describing its construction. "Give it wave."

The small boy took the wand and the old man snatched it back right straight away before handing him another one and almost immediately taking it back, along with mutters of dissatisfaction.

Handing the boy another wand, the old man said, "Try this one."

Harry tried the wand. And then another. And then some more. Quickly, the stacks of tried wands were stacking up, but whatever the old man was expecting, it wasn't happening, though every failed wand only seemed to make the man happier.

"Tricky customer, eh?" said the old man, before jabbering some more; for a moment, he stopped, as though in thought, then returned with a wand he professed to be of an unusual combination, "holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple".

Harry took the wand and waved it about while the old man looked at him expectantly, but aside from being allowed to wave the wand around a little, nothing different happened, and the old man looked almost disappointed, before taking the wand back and going off to retrieve more wands from the shelves and drawers while muttering to himself.

So, Harry tried more, and more boxes joined the stack of rejected wands, which soon grew into two stacks, then three, before one pile toppled and knocked over the other two, becoming one big heap that only seemed to grow, and though the old man had seemed to grow more delighted at the increasing number of rejected wands at first, by the time half the shelves of the store were empty with no satisfactory result, hints of frustration began to show in the way he spoke.

After what seemed like hours, all the wands on the shelves and in the drawers had been exhausted without satisfying the old man, who by this point seemed less enthused and more than a little frustrated.

"Mister Potter," he said to the boy, "You are the first wizard to have come into my shop and not have a wand choose him. It seems I will need to custom-make you a wand."

"Look, I'm only here because Hogwarts requires a wand," said the small boy in annoyance. "Personally, I don't care which wand I get, as long as I can get out of here soon."

That was all it took to set Ollivander off. "Mister Potter," snarled the old man. "It is of utmost importance a wizard have the right wand for them! The connections between wand and wizard are complex! Without the right wand, magic becomes much harder to perform!"

"Well, I've always liked a challenge," said the small boy glibly, but that only served to make the wandmaker angrier.

"Mister Potter!" shouted the old man, but Harry decided to ignore his ranting, letting his attention wander as the wandmaker fumed and raved, going on in a diatribe about the benefits of having a wand that chose the wizard and the dangers and difficulties of having a different kind of wand.

Only after the man had paused for breath did Harry look him in the eye and, as though talking to a child who had just thrown a temper tantrum, asked, "Are you finished yet? Or do I need to keep ignoring you?"

The old man sputtered in indignation, and Harry decided enough was enough. "Listen, I'm going to leave," he said. "You can either sell me one of these wands," he added, gesturing to the wands laying around the store, "or custom make one and have it shipped to Hogwarts, where it'll be waiting for me when I arrive. It makes no difference to me, but I'm not staying here for another five minutes." Then, speaking softly so the lunk couldn't make out his words, he added, "I need to get home before I break curfew, or my aunt and uncle will lock me in my cupboard without anything to eat for a couple days."

Ollivander jerked erect as though stung, his large eyes widening as his face paled at the implication he might be doing something that might endanger to the Boy-Who-Lived's health. "Seven Galleons, and I shall make a wand specially for you and have it owled to Hogwarts," said the old man, as he started to gather the boxes of rejected wands.

"I need to run," said the boy, as he counted out seven gold pieces from the Mokeskin bag dangling from his neck. "I'll leave the coins on the counter."

Stepping outside the dusty shop, Harry was joined by Hagrid, who gave him a mournful look. "Harry...," he started, but the boy stopped him.

"You've met my aunt and uncle," said the boy, as he eyed the sun, low in the afternoon sky. "If I get home late and miss curfew, can you even imagine what they'd do to me?"

Hagrid nodded, seemingly unsure what to say, so Harry took the lead on the way out of the magical shopping district that was Diagon Alley, through the wall, through the dimly-lit pub. There was no conversation to be had; Harry knew he clearly wasn't what the big lunk had expected he would be, and was likely disappointed he wasn't rescuing a small, timid child from cruelty and show him the wonders of an amazing new world.

As Harry boarded a subway train that would take him home, Hagrid pressed an envelope into his hands. "Yer ticket fer Hogwarts. First o' September, King's Cross; it's all on yer ticket."

"Thank you, Hagrid," said Harry, shouldering his haversack and giving the giant of a man a small smile as the doors closed between them.

**~ooOoo~**

Disembarking the tube, Harry sighed as he realized he had transfer onto a train before walking a long way to go on foot; where he needed to be was not near the railway station at all, and once again, he wondered what kind of school would employ somebody who would put a small child on a train without adult supervision and then expect them to get home from the train station without adult supervision or ensuring they could get to where they needed to go safely afterwards; it was not as though Harry had the money to hire a cab, and the trek from the station to his destination was not a short one.

With a sign, he hefted the haversack by the shoulder strap he had purchased and started to down the avenue on foot. It was not going to be a short walk to get to where he was going.

**~ooOoo~**

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore frowned as Rubeus Hagrid left his office after making his report about the afternoon's events, though the big man thought he was simply lamenting his experiences to the headmaster of Hogwarts. Already Harry Potter was too defiant, too cynical, too independent, too manipulative, too willful, and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore needed Harry Potter to be meek, approval-seeking, and easy to manipulate into sacrificing himself in the name of The Greater Good.

Tiredly, the beardy man seated in the office of the headmaster of Hogwarts rubbed his temples, then had himself a lemon drop. Surely, if Potter were to become friends with the Weasleys, it would soften him and make him more open to being what he had to be for The Greater Good.

**~ooOoo~**

Harry Potter threw open the doors, stepping inside the foyer with his arms raised in triumph. "Apparently, I'm a wizard," he announced.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** A short transitional chapter, with some information relevant to the story but not quite connected to the next chapter.

My thanks to Shinshikaizer for writing the original pitch, and my friend goalie12345 for editing.


	4. A Fascinating Story

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 4: A Fascinating Story**

* * *

"We've been over this before 'Squeak," said the man behind the counter, looking up from paperback book he was reading. "You're a hermetic mage."

As if to accentuate the point, the man picked up a ballpoint pen in the cup next to the register and cocked his arm back, gently flicking it the small boy in a lazy arc.

Instantly, Harry's right hand rose from his side, fingers pointed upwards and palm facing outwards ever so slightly, until it was in front of his chest at shoulder level, in the _abhaya mudra_. "_Creo vim_," he intoned calmly, quickly drawing energy from the Astral plane to charge his mind and body, giving his words and gestures power through intention.

There was a musical chime, and the pen was stopped mid-flight a few inches from Harry's face, bouncing backwards and crashing to the floor as though it had struck an invisible solid wall. Harry's brow furrowed as a wave of weariness flowed over him for a moment, but it passed and he remained unaffected, as it was a _shield_ spell he was familiar with.

"Jason," said the small boy with a smile as he picked the pen off the floor and tossed it back to the man behind the counter. "How's business going?"

"It's been going," said the man, before calling out, "Losers! 'Squeak's here!"

In the back of the shop, behind a partition wall, there was the sound of chairs scraping against the floor, followed by the sound of a chair toppling. Then, six adults came rushing out of the back room, swarming towards the small boy, until the first of them, a pretty, slim woman with strawberry blonde hair and pale skin, wrapped him in a warm, worried embrace before the others piled on in what became a massive group hug.

After a long moment, the adults slowly began to release the small boy, and only then did the woman holding him closest pull back, though her hands remained on his shoulders. "Where've ye bin 'Squeak? we've woriat boak abit ye," she said in a soft, gentle lilt. As always, Harry found her Ayrshire-influenced inflection soothing.

"Thanks Jack," said the boy. "Aunt and uncle dragged me away."

"Why?" asked an older, bearded man in a suit. "It's not as though they would take you along for a vacation; they've left you locked outside when they went away before."

"I started getting letters, 'Fessor," said the small boy. "At first, it just the one, addressed to, and I quote, 'The Cupboard Under the Stairs'. After receiving that letter, which they destroyed, they moved me into Dudley's second bedroom, the smaller one, but the letters just kept coming, until they were pouring out of the fireplace. That that point, they were terrified by the 'freakishness' and decided it might be better at a hotel."

"Something tells me that didn't work out how they had hoped," said a thin, bespectacled man in shirtsleeves with a smile.

"You'd be right," said the boy. "The letters kept coming, even at the hotel, so they dragged me off to an island off the coast." He paused, looking around the shop. "I think we should go into the back before I keep going; don't know if somebody might walk in during the middle of the story, and the story might get weird."

There were nods all around, and the group filtered into the back room of the shop, where they were joined by the shopkeeper. Looking at the table at the center of the room, Harry noted the miniatures on the hand-drawn map and gave the youngest of the group besides himself, a raven-haired woman in her early twenties with short, bobbed hair and slim face, a miffed look. "Shadowrun, Romy? I thought Wednesdays was board games."

The noirette looked ashamed. "You weren't here, so we thought we'd try playing a scenario more extreme than we'd comfortable with you playing," she said apologetically.

"What's the run?" Harry asked.

"Rescuing a suit's kidnapped daughter from a bun-rack-koo parlor," said a stocky man in jeans and a printed T-shirt advertising Metallica.

"It's pronounced _bunraku_, Shaun," corrected the beautiful, if generically so, woman, tossing her long brown hair. "I bet you pronounce _sake_ 'sack-key' too."

"Well, I'm sorry," said the T-shirted man heatedly.

"Never mind that," said the brunette, hugging Harry warmly. "Do you want to play?"

"No," said the boy after another quick glance at the table. "Looks like you've already done the legwork, so it'd be unfair for me to just crash the game.

"Anyways, where was I?"

"You got dragged off the an island off the coast," prompted the bespectacled man as he turned a chair so he could sit facing the boy before taking a seat in it.

"Right," said the boy, as his audience settled in to listen to his tale. "So this really big guy, so big he could be a troll, but no tusks or calcium deposits or thick skin, he breaks down the front door, and he hand delivers to deliver a cake and a letter. Bent the barrel of the shotgun my uncle tried to shoot him with, too.

"So, apparently, a boarding school for witches and wizards had been sending me letters, and he was sent to deliver it when nobody answered them. Long story short, there's a magical shopping district in the middle of downtown London, I found out I've quite an inheritance that nobody told me about before, and I bought supplies the magic boarding school. Apparently, because I didn't answer send a response in time of the deadline, I'm now going to magical boarding school, which I guess can't be worse than my aunt and uncle's.

"Anyways, the trog who drags me to Diagon Alley, the shopping district, gets sick after going to the bank, because they use vaults for money storage, and their money system is in coinage only, so people need big vaults if they're wealthy, and the vaults are apparently all underground and the only way to get to them is through riding minecarts, which is as bad as it sounds, and the trog decides to go get drink. In the meantime, I'm supposed to buy my school uniform, which are robes like a barrister would wear in court, and I've got nothing to put them in, not to mention, he's left me with a big, heavy bag of gold coins, because he has no idea how much exactly I'll actually need for the school supplies, and I know this because I asked him.

"So, of course I don't buy my uniform first; I go and buy something to carry my purchases in first, as well as a magic coin purse. Then I go to the bookstore, because that's right by the luggage shop. At the bookshop, I find all these book written about me, so I decide to stop and read a few, because apparently, I'm very famous, to a point where calling me by name gets me swarmed by random strangers."

"How can you be famous and not know it?" asked the noirette curiously. "Was it a government cover up?"

"Maybe," said Harry with a shrug. "Might be because the mundanes just don't about it. From what I could gather, the magical people of Britain were embroiled in a civil war, and their big bad evil guy like at the end of a _Dungeons & Dragons_ campaign was killing loads of people, but when he tried to kill me, something happened and he couldn't; they say he was using something called the 'Killing Curse' on his murder spree, and because it kills without fail and I survived, witches and wizards call me 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' and attribute his defeat to me."

"That's glaikit," said the strawberry blonde, rubbing the sleeve tattoos on her arms. "Ye cooldn't hae bin mair than tois, thee years auld? Whit coods ye hae dain, wee'd oan heem?"

"I know, right?" the boy agreed. "And apparently, about eighteen months.

"They're still really scared of that big bad evil guy, to a point where they only call him 'You-Know-Who' and 'He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named', which is really confusing for a person new to their magical society. I didn't have time to read that much, because a girl who's also going to the same magical boarding school as I am interrupted me, but I did manage to buy a copy of every book in the shop."

"That's smart," said the man in the shirtsleeves, rubbing his hands together in excitement at the mention of books. "Let's see them."

"Can't right now," said the boy, shaking his head. "I didn't know how many books it would be, so I had them charge my vault and deliver the books there, instead of standing around and waiting for them to get the books while I count out God knows how many coins.

"So, I get most of my other school supplies before I head back to get my uniform, and that trog is there, just crying his eyes out because he thought I had went missing, even though he was the one who left me unattended to go have a drink in the middle of the day. Anyways, buy my robes and have a nice long chat with the girl I met the bookstore; she's agreeable to meeting before we head off to school. She's apparently new to magic."

"Might not be a bad idea to sit down with her and compare notes," said the man in the shirtsleeves. "I mean, before today, none of us knew there was a secret society of wizards."

"Yeah, that sounds smart Martin," said the boy, making a mental note of it. "The last thing I have to buy for school is a wand. Go into this old, dusty shop that looks like it should be condemned, and this old man who looks like he might be a paedophile gets really close and starts measuring me all over before sticking wands into my hands and telling me to wave it around, then grabbing them before I get a chance. It takes a really long time, and I end up going through the entire inventory of the shop, but the wandmaker won't sell me any of the wands because it's important for every witch and wizard to have the right wand for them. Told me I could leave a deposit and he'd make me a wand and send it to the boarding school, where it'd be waiting for me."

"That could be a scam," said bespectacled man, rubbing his beard. "Might not be a bad one."

"Could be, but at that point, I just wanted to get out of there," said the boy. "Story's running kind of long now, so, to get to the point, trog buys me this owl as a birthday present (apparently, wizards use owls to deliver the post), gives me a train ticket to get to boarding school, then puts me on a train by myself. Because of course I'll be able to get home from the station safely without any help. I came straight here from the station."

There was a moment of silence as the boy's audience, who had taken up seats in various parts of the back room, pondered what the story he had just told. Then, the stocky man ran his fingers through his close-cropped hair and said, "That's a fascinating tale, 'Squeak, but unless you've got proof, you could just be shitting us."

"You mean proof, besides this owl, Shaun?" asked the boy, gesturing to the birdcage he had set down on a stack of boxes.

"Could have gotten it from an exotic pet shop," said Shaun with a shrug.

"That's fair, I suppose," said the boy, as he hopped down from the desk he had taken up a seat on, reaching under his shirt and taking out his Mokeskin pouch. Loosening the drawstrings as he walked over to the table with the map, he found a wide open empty spot on the map and upended the pouch.

Instantly, coinage poured out of the pouch in a cascade of gold, silver and bronze, quickly piling up until the heap on the table far outsized the purse it had come from. "Two pieces evidence," Harry said. "First, this pouch is bigger on the inside, as you can well see. Second, three denomination of coins, none of which you've likely seen before." Then, he pulled the train ticket the lunk had given him for school out of his bag and dropped it onto the table as well. "And, finally, a train ticket to get to the school."

A hush fell over the back room as everybody except the small boy eyed the small fortune in front of them, trying to digest what they had just witnessed. Then, bespectacled, suited man picked up one of the coins, weighing it in his hand. "And you're saying magical society uses these coins as currency?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry said, before turning towards the noirette. "Romy, I was going to ask if you could run a chemical analysis on the coins; I was told they're gold, silver and bronze, but I'm not sure how pure they are, if they're gold, silver and bronze at all."

"I can do that," said the noirette as she gathered a few of each type of coin and pocketed them. "Will it be all right for me melt them down, though? This could be a lot of money."

Harry nodded. "It's only a tiny fraction of what I inherited."

"It's important to know how pure the metals are," said the bearded man. "Once he does, Harry can determine the best course of action for his financial future."

An awkward silence hung in the air for another moment before Harry started gathering the coins scattered across the table and scooping it back into his Mokeskin pouch.

"So, a secret magical society, huh?" said Romy, as she fiddled with the coins in her pockets. "Told you Parliament was covering something up."

"Just because you were right about one thing without even being right about the specifics doesn't mean you're right about everything," chided the bespectacled man.

"You're an economics professor, Ethan," said the man in the dress shirt. "We should ask Sarah; she would the one who'd most likely know about other government conspiracies in history."

Ethan shrugged.

"Wait, you said you had the books you purchased delivered to your vault," said the brunette, her full lips pursing in thought. "How are you planning to get them?"

"I was going to ask you if you were busy tomorrow, Karen...," said the boy with an inviting smile that momentarily softened his otherwise hard eyes.

"I'm not," said the brunette. "But why me?"

"You're an actress," said the boy, "and I need somebody who can act like they've been there before, because there's a lot of unusual things in Diagon Alley. How about we meet tomorrow morning at eight at Langley railway station?"

Karen nodded her in agreement, biting her lip nervously at the prospect of visiting a district composed entirely of magical shops.

"Hol' up a minute," said Romy, who had taken the train ticket out of its envelop and was reading it over with a furrowed brow. "Is this a mistake? This ticket is for King's Cross Station, Platform Nine _and Three-Quarters_."

"Well, the trog gave it to me, so I wouldn't put it past him," Harry said, "but can you imagine a regular training taking a school full of children to magical school?"

The noirette considered the question for a moment, then put the ticket back into the envelope before handing it back to Harry. "You should investigate it tomorrow, if you have time," she said, and the boy nodded an affirmative as he took the ticket and put it into his haversack.

"Well, I'm going to head home," said Harry, shouldering his haversack. "If aunt and uncle are back, they'll probably lock me away without food if I get home late. Have a good game; I'll be back tomorrow for _Dungeons & Dragons_."

"I'll walk you out," said the shopkeep, tapping the boy on the elbow as he exited the back room.

"Thanks, Jason," said the boy, as the shopkeep walked him out.

"Remember: train your body, train your mind," Jason called out after Harry as he left the shop.

**~ooOoo~**

It was already dark by the time Harry reached the front door at 4 Privet Drive, but he could not see any lights in the windows, downstairs or up. Trying the door and finding it locked, he tried the doorbell, then rapped it lightly with his knuckles, but even after a couple minutes, there was no response from inside.

Quietly, the boy examined the door. It was wood, painted brown, and the doorknob was metal, and Harry ransacked his mind, trying to think of how he could get inside. For a moment, he wished he had taken up Jason on his offer of teaching him to pick locks, but now, what he didn't know would do him no good, so he focused on the task at hand.

He had options; if he wanted, he could target the wooden body of the door, or the metal of the lock, though he could not affect both with a single spell, and as for the techniques, he could transform, destroy or control whatever he chose as his target.

Harry considered his options; if he destroyed anything, his aunt and uncle would probably put the belt to him, as would if he transformed anything in a way they thought "freakish", so his best option was likely to control the door. But controlling the door itself would be difficult, because the door was held in place by the hinges and the lock, so the lock would be his best target.

Inspecting the locking mechanism closely, the boy noted that the doorknob itself did not have a lock; rather, there as a keyhole for the deadbolt just below it, and Harry realized that was exactly what he would need to control for him to entry into the house at 4 Privet Drive.

The verbal component for the spell he would need were set: _rego_ for control, _terram_ for earth, or at least the minerals making up the metal of the lock. What was left was the gesture he would need to use for the spell; Harry quickly ran through the mudras he knew and settled on the one attributed to the remover of obstacles, the _Ganesha mudra_.

All that was left was his intention. Closing his eyes, Harry tried to picture in his mind what he needed to happen; though he was not sure how the mechanics of the deadbolt worked, he knew enough to know he needed at least the bolt to move, and so he envisioned the deadbolt moving. After a few repetition in his mind's eye, he opened his real eyes overlaid the visualization over the lock itself before pressing his palms together before his chest, resting his thumb lightly against his sternum; then, he swiveled his hands so the fingers on each were pointed in the direction of the elbow of the other, with his right palm facing his heart, before he bent his fingers and slid his hands across each other until his curled fingers interlocked, though he continued to pull even after his fingers were locked together.

Drawing a small quantity of Astral power into himself, Harry said "_Rego terram_," in a clear voice, finally pulling his hands apart as he let the Astral energy flow through him for a moment, and with a click-thump, the deadbolt unlocked, accompanied by the familiar heaviness of body he had come to associate casting a spell spontaneously.

With one hand, Harry let himself into 4 Privet Drive, closing and locking the door behind him. The house was as they had left it in their rush, and he could guess his aunt, uncle and cousin had yet to return from the island they had fled to after the hotel. Nonetheless, he decided it was not worth the risk to try his luck, and so he went upstairs, taking a cold shower that washed whatever fatigued remained from the magic he had used earlier.

Dressed and in the smaller bedroom his relatives had deemed his, Harry considered the beginnings of the familiar gnawing in his stomach, but decided against cooking himself a meal; given the chance, his aunt and uncle would be more than happy starve him for days, so going to bed a little hungry tonight with a possibility for future meals was a better idea than going to bed with a full stomach tonight but being foodless for a days to come.

Already, it was dark out, the waning moon provided a little light through the window; though tired, Harry reminded himself of what Jason had always told him about training his body to train his mind, and started on his nightly warm down routine.

Ten press ups. Ten sit ups. Ten squats. Ten burpees. Ten leg-raises.

Two minutes rest.

Ten more press ups. Ten more sit ups. Ten more squats. Ten more burpees. Ten more leg-raises.

Two more minutes rest.

Harry continued his calisthenics routine until he was exhausted, then fell into bed, pulling the blanket up to his neck.

It did not long for dreamless sleep to come.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And finally, Harry does _his_ kind of magic. Decided to release two chapters this week because Chapter 3 is a mite short, and half of Chapter 4 basically summarizes the previous three chapters.

My thanks to Shinshikaizer for writing the original pitch, and my friend goalie12345 for editing.


	5. Diagon Alley Redux & King's Cross

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 5: Diagon Alley Redux & King's Cross**

* * *

Harry looked at himself in the mirror; he had been awake a few hours, performed his daily morning routine of exercise and erecting magical defenses, taken another cold shower, and though his stomach was starting to twist upon itself in hunger, he did not want to disturb what was in the kitchen and instead choose to ensure he was properly dressed and groomed for the day; yet, despite his best efforts, his unruly nest of raven hair was refusing to cooperate.

With a sigh, he considered the clothes he was wearing. They were nearly identical to the day before, but seeing as they were second-hand clothing handed down from his cousin, that was no surprise. Nonetheless, they fitted him poorly, and as somebody who was supposed to have unimaginable wealth within the magical world where he was returning, he needed to at least look presentable.

The boy considered the robes he had purchased the day previous but immediately decided against them; they were a school uniform, and he had no intention of wearing a school uniform when he was not required to, particularly when the uniform looked like a loose dress.

This, of course, meant his only real option until he purchased clothes that fit him properly was to remedy the situation with magic; however, while his magic was versatile, he did not have anything in his repertoire that could directly alter his clothes.

He realized, however, the limitation did not preclude him from doing other things to his clothes; even if he could not directly change what he was wearing, he could still find a way to change its appearance.

The incantation was easy—_muto_ for transformation, _imagonem_ for image—but it was the visualization of the result that he needed for his intent that was difficult. Simply put, Harry had very little idea as to what was nice clothing for a wealthy child going out for a day on the town.

The boy wracked his memory desperately trying to remember something, anything that would suit his needs for the day. Then, something came to mind and he smiled wryly to himself; he turned his hands palm-side up at waist level, fingers held together and pointed away from his body and towards the centerline of his body, and brought his thumbs to the base of his ring fingers in the _tattva mudra_, drawing Astral power into his body as he said "_Muto imagonem_."

**~ooOoo~**

Karen North, waitress and struggling actress, had to rub her eyes to make sure she wasn't imagining things. She almost did not recognize Harry Potter, a friend and a regular amongst the role-playing games played at Bourne's Comic and Games, in the stylish clothes he was wearing. Gone were the oversized hand-me-downs he usually wore, and in their place was a Savile Row style grey suit that looked like it was lifted straight from the 1960s with its soft padded shoulders, very narrow lapels, full chest but suppressed waist and trousers with double forward pleats; visible under the suit jacket was a white collared shirt and a black necktie, while a pocket square peered out from the front pocket, the edge of the white fabric running parallel to the pocket's lip. Over his shoulder and across his body was the haversack from the previous day.

She thought the suit looked familiar, and in the moment it took her to place where she had seen it previously, Harry had walked up and greeted her with a, "Good morning, Karen."

"Morning, Harry," she said, as she reached down to straighten his necktie. "Is this a replica of the suit Sean Connery wore in _Dr. No_?"

"Yes and no," said the boy with a slight smile. "I'm still wear my usual clothes, but I crafted an illusion that makes it look like I'm wear a very nice suit. The illusion interacts with sight and touch, so people and both see it and feel it."

"Now I feel underdressed," said the actress as she looked down at her own clothes, a sleek sleeveless white sheath dress, a black bolero and a pair of black flats with bows on the topline.

"No, you look beautiful," Harry said with a charming smile, before nodding towards the stylish sling bag she was carrying. "I hope you brought money for the tube," he said. "I know the gentleman is supposed to pay, but I still don't have a single quid to my name."

"But you do have a giant vault of gold coins," Karen joked with a smile. "Where are we going?"

"Paddington railway station, then the tube to Charing Cross Road," Harry answered, before slipping into Upper Received Pronunciation. "When we get there, if anyone asks, you are my stepmother, and we are very, very posh."

With a smile, Karen adopted a similar accent as she pressed the money for the train ticket into Harry's hands. "We should be going, little brother," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "The train will not wait for any of us."

**~ooOoo~**

Karen had enjoyed the half-hour trip from Langley station to Paddington station; they had spent the train ride working out their backstory, with the round-faced brunette adopting the persona of Harry's middle-aged foster father's trophy wife, a woman who had captivated David, the name they chose for Harry's fictional foster father, with her girl-next-door beauty, wit and subtle charm. It was an exercise they were both comfortable with, something they had practiced time and again when creating characters for the tabletop role-playing games they took part in, and while Karen always used the opportunity to hone her craft while she could not find roles for herself, she suspected Harry used the opportunity to escape the horrors of his home life.

The tube ride, however, had been awkward; it was fairly clear to Karen Harry simply was not comfortable with being around so many strangers, more than few who gave the suit-dressed boy inquiring looks. The cramp quarters of the subway train did little to put the boy at ease, and his manner reminded her of when she first met him three years ago, before he had gained self-confidence through role-playing.

Nonetheless, they successfully detrained at Charing Cross underground station, and now, Harry once again was himself, confident and full of life. Though they were walking nearly side by side, hand-in-hand, most would not be able to tell the small boy in the bespoke suit was leading the way with nothing more than a gentle pull and some hand pressure.

The place they stopped before at was nothing if not unimpressive, a simple black door on a corner building of black walls. It was only after Harry had opened the door and pulled her inside that Karen felt like she had traveled backwards in time.

The interior of the pub was poorly with just one high window and numerous candles placed on the candlesticks strewn about the long, wide tables one might find at a renaissance fair, yet even in the dim light, she could see the dust floating in the air. As it was early in the morning, the pub was all but deserted, with only the barman at the counter polishing tankards with a cloth.

"Mister Harry Potter," the barman said, and the boy nodded; Karen had wondered if Harry really was as famous as he had said he was, but for a barman to recognize him by sight…

"Mister barman," said the boy, and Karen was reminded once again of Harry's bad habit of not learning the names of anyone he did not consider important; she and the others at the shop had tried to break him of the habit, but he was still more likely to remember the name of a named NPC in a campaign from a year ago than somebody he had only met for a few minutes despite a handshake introduction.

Karen let herself be pulled out of the pub through the back door and frowned as she found herself in a dead end alleyway walled entirely in brick. She started to ask Harry what he was doing but thought better when she saw him performing a mudra and saying something.

There was a shimmer in the air, and then a fedora appeared on the boy's head, seated low on his brow. Curiously, she reached down to touch it and felt the felt material against her fingers, though it failed to move when she tried to lift it.

"It's not real," Harry said. "Like suit, an illusion with a tactile and a visual component."

The actress started to say something but Harry was once again performing a mudra and saying something in Latin, as he always did when he was using magic.

She could barely keep her jaw from dropping as the brick facade before her split open to reveal an archway, beyond which a street bustled with people in robes and hats going about their business like everything was normal. The narrow street was crammed with two- and three-story buildings, with storefronts on the ground floor and the upper levels likely residences.

As the boy pulled her down the street, Karen found herself staring in wonderment at everything she walked by. Here, hidden away in the heart of London, was a secret shopping district resembling what she had imagined Victorian England would look like if it had been crossed with _Dungeons & Dragons_ and be given time to be populated with people.

In one shop window, she saw a cauldron on display, and it would have merely been odd and not marvelous were it not for the rod stirring in the cauldron without any visible hand to guide it.

In another window, she saw various bits of flesh and greens she could not recognize on display, tagged with names like "Chinese Chomping Cabbage", "Lizard's Leg" and "Essence of comfrey".

A crowd of small children gather around yet another storefront, staring wistfully at the broom on display while chattering amongst themselves in longing tones. That was something that did not make sense to Karen, and so, she asked Harry.

"If _Kiki's Delivery Service_ is to be believed, they fly on them," was the answer Harry had given her in a clipped tone.

Karen remembered watching the movie, brought in by and shown at the insistence of Rosemary, the chemistry post-graduate student, during one of Bourne's Comics and Games many movie nights, and how Harry had watched the the animated film in rapt attention.

"Don't you want a broom so you can fly?" asked Karen.

"Why? I can already fly without a broom," said Harry flatly.

"You can?" Karen was surprised.

"Flying was one of the first things I learned to do once I started studying techniques and forms," said the boy with a shrug. "Besides, everybody wishes they could fly; it's like being Superman."

The actress accepted the child's explanation as he said it; it made sense, after all, that children would want to fly on their own if they could. Besides, she was to busy looking up at the wide variety of owls in cages hung in front of store with a "Eeylops Owl Emporium" sign.

Before she knew it, they had reached the bank, a towering white building of marbled stone and bronze doors; on either side of the doors, in uniforms of scarlet and gold, stood creatures she had previously only seen in fantasy art, and never in that shade or with so much hair.

"Goblins?" she asked, and Harry nodded, pulling the door open with one hand.

She followed him as he strode purposefully through the lobby before stopping at the end of a queue forming at the tall podium at the far end of the room.

"What are we queuing for?" she asked.

"Bank vault," said the boy shortly, and Karen took the opportunity of look over the bank's amazing interior. It was much more spacious than any bank she had ever visited, and there were more tellers employed in the single branch's than the half-dozen others she had been to combined previously, even if all the tellers were using quills and parchment instead of calculators and computers.

It did not take long for the queue to reach Harry, and Karen watched as the boy reached into his pocket and retrieve a tiny golden key, a key more ornate than any other key she had ever seen.

"Harry Potter, for Harry Potter's vault," Harry said in a low voice as he handed over the key to the goblin on the high podium, who examined it closely before beckoning a waiting goblin, who approached the podium to have something whispered in his ear and the key handed to him.

"This way, Mister Potter," said the goblin with key, bidding the boy and his companion to follow.

"You may want to hold onto your knickers," Harry said, and Karen wondered what he meant.

**~ooOoo~**

The actress could barely hold onto her breakfast as she stumbled out of the mine cart; only Harry's timely assistance kept her upright, and she still wobbled as she walked while she struggled to regain her equilibrium.

So intent she was on not being sick that she missed whatever the goblin acting as their guide had done, though she did not miss the gigantic metal door swinging open.

For the first time in her life, Karen found herself truly at a loss for words. Inside what was obviously a vault was more coins than she had ever seen in her life, piled high in many heaps that nearly reached the ceiling.

Gold!

Silver!

It was more wealth than she had ever seen in her life.

"Before you take a dive into the gold like Scrooge McDuck, remember, gold is a metal, which is harder than human bones," Harry said. Karen noted the amused smile on the boy's lips and flushed in embarrassment at having her first impulse read like she was an open book.

Karen watched as Harry entered the vault and went to the numerous stacks of books placed near the entrance of the vault, more books than she had ever seen in one place at once outside of a bookstore or a library, and take several stacks of books, each tied together with twine, placing them into of the smaller pockets of his haversack. Then, he walked to each of the remaining stack of books and shoveled it into the largest pocket of his bag.

"There must be hundreds of books here," Karen said, as Harry continued depositing books into his bag. Then, her brow furrowed as she realized something. "How are you fitting all those books into your bag?"

"It's bigger on the inside, like the TARDIS," said the boy with a smile, before patting the bag affectionately. "It's a very handy haversack." Then, as he considered the many remaining stacks of books for a moment. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize there would be so many. You must be bored."

"It's nothing," Karen said with a smile, trying to ease Harry's frown. "I'm glad I can help; I don't get to do that for you often."

"You always do what you can," the boy said with a wistful smile. "This may take a while."

**~ooOoo~**

It had taken more than a while for Harry to gather his books, and another stomach-wrenching ride in the mine cart to return to ground level, but Karen was glad to be back outside once more. If nothing else, the fresh air was helping with her nausea, sleepwalking after Harry as he led her by hand while she tried to collect her thoughts.

She didn't even notice he had pulled her into a small shop until a hand waved before her face, followed by the snapping of fingers, brought her out of her reverie, forcing her eyes to focus.

It was then that Karen realized Harry had brought her inside a jeweler's, and her eyes widened momentarily in awe at the beautiful accessories on display.

Necklaces of exquisitely wrought silver. Gold rings inlaid with precious stones. Delicately engraved pendants on slender chains. Delicate earrings sculpted in mysterious designs.

"What are we doing here?" she asked Harry, as the boy looked over the items on display.

"You've done so much for me already," he said plainly. "I wanted to get your something as a token of my gratitude."

"But you don't have to," she protested.

"But I want to," the boy countered, taking her hand and guiding her to the counter, where a salesgirl watched the two with a look barely-contained amusement on her face. "What looks good to you?"

"I really shouldn't," Karen protested weakly as her eyes traveled between the numerous accessories on display, but she found her eyes were always drawn back to a singular silvery pendant carved in a symbol she did not recognize in any way.

Harry followed her eye line, then nodded to the clerk, nodding his chin towards the pendant the actress couldn't keep her eyes off of. "We'll have that one."

"It'll be two hundred sixty-seven Galleons," said the clerk, as she pulled the necklace from the display. Then, as Harry began to count coins from the pouch around his neck, she added, "If you tell your pouch how many Galleons you want, it'll retrieve them for you."

Harry said the number of gold pieces required, and they tumbled out of the purse and onto the counter in a pile. "Huh," he said. "Wish someone had told me that beforehand."

"It's common sense," said the clerk as she placed the pendant into the boy's hand before scooping up the coins.

Karen let Harry take her by hand and lead her to a chair, guide her to sit down, and instinctively pulled aside her thick chocolate locks, allowing Harry to fasten the clasp of the pendant behind her neck. Looking into the mirror before her, Karen looked at the piece of jewelry resting against the white of her dress and whispered, "It's beautiful, Harry."

"You might want to tuck it under your clothes, though," said the boy. "I mean, it's silver and it looks expensive."

Swallowing with a nod, Karen lifted the pendant and slipped it under the front of her dress; as the silver charm came to a rest, she felt the cool of the pendant kiss the skin between her breasts and a comforting warmth radiated through her body, enfolding her in its welcoming embrace as sultriness permeated her to her core.

**~ooOoo~**

Seated at an outdoor table, eating as they watched passersby, Karen still felt like she was floating on air, her mind serene and almost a million miles away yet present at the same time. Across the table, Harry was quietly making notes on a napkin between bites.

"You know, Harry," Karen said, breaking the comfortable silence. "When you said you were left with a bag of gold pieces, I didn't realize you so wealthy."

"I didn't find out until yesterday," said Harry, looking up from his writing, "but I might well be a millionaire. I think someone's been keeping it from me on purpose; yesterday's during bank visit, the trog had my key, and before that, it was apparently in the possession of one Albus Dumbledore, 'Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards'."

"I can practically hear the quotes in your voice," Karen said airily, eating another bite from the plate in front of her.

"What I don't understand why somebody like that would have my personal bank vault key," Harry said. "His titles makes it seem like he's a very important and busy person, yet he has in his possession something that does not belong to him. Let's say it my parents had the key before they were killed; why would he have it afterwards?"

"Maybe they gave it to him for safekeeping," suggested the actress.

"Would you give your safe deposit key to somebody who clearly has more important jobs for safekeeping?" asked Harry.

"I don't have a deposit box," said the woman, before pausing to think. "But if I did, I wouldn't give it to somebody like that; I'd give it to my mother or father."

"Exactly," said the boy. "So, how does he end up with it in his possession? The best guess would be he came into possession of the key outside of legal means. That he had access to my vault and didn't tell me earlier, tells me he deliberately kept the information from me. Why?"

"I don't know," Karen said. "You're starting to sound like Romy."

"She might be paranoid, but that doesn't mean the world isn't out to get me. Think about it:

"When I was a toddler, I was attacked in my home by a 'dark lord' who people still won't say the name of despite having been history for nearly a decade, after said 'dark lord' murdered my mother and father. Next, I'm placed with my aunt and uncle, who clearly never wanted me, and took every opportunity to neglect and starve me, and allow their child to abuse me; even when they're reported to the badges for child abuse, like what you guys have tried to do for me, nothing ever comes of it, like the feet have been paid off. Then, one day, out of the blue, I find out I'm wealthy and I'm famous, the darling of a secret world I've never been told about, and I'm plucked out of an abusive home life and into a secret world of magic, where the unwashed masses can't wait to shake my hands and thank me for doing something I probably had nothing to do with."

"When you put it like that, it does sound like a conspiracy," the actress agreed.

"Know what Goldfinger told Bond? 'Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.', and if I look at this plainly, it looks like enemy action."

"You think someone's out to get you," Karen surmised.

"Got to be," said Harry. "And by withholding my wealth, Albus Dumbledore put me in a situation where I had no means of protecting myself from my abusers; with money, I could have greased the wheels of justice, if nothing else. If he's not the principle actor working against me, he's at least a part of the plot to ensure my oppression."

"But why?" asked the actress.

"I'm a recognizable folk hero," said the boy. "Maybe they fear I'll lead an uprising. Maybe they needed me out of the way until I could be a pawn. Maybe they're planning to weaponize me; Hogwarts apparently has a class titled 'Defense Against the Dark Arts', which sounds like they're expecting children to be facing 'Dark Arts', and from that I can only surmise they're likely a culture where using children as soldiers may not be uncommon. Why else would an eleven-year-old be taught those kinds of things?"

Karen swallowed as she digested Harry's well-reasoned arguments, silently cursing Rosemary in the back of her mind for turning the boy into a conspiracy theorist like her.

"I'm surprised you're not more impressed by all this magic," she said, deciding a change in subject would be good.

"Why?" the boy asked.

"It's magic! It's magical!"

Harry gave the actress a look, the type one might give another for saying something stupid, and Karen felt anger rise in her chest momentarily, only to be washed away by the warmth suffusing her body and soul.

"I suppose it'd be amazing to you," Harry said after a moment. "This is new to you.

"I use magic almost every day, though. Those miniatures that move on their own when we're playing tabletop? Golems made with the Hebrew word for truth and infused with Astral power. Why does the table never get dirty? It's been etched with symbols and enchanted to stay clean. I can name more instances, if you'd like."

"That makes sense," said Karen with a nod. "So tell me, what other magic do you use?"

**~ooOoo~**

It was early afternoon by the time they departed Diagon Alley; Karen wanted to stay longer and explore the shopping district, but had relented to Harry's sense of urgency and agreed to accompany him to King's Cross Station in search of "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters".

The search had been frustrating; there were no obvious physical signs of the platform and the railway workers they had asked all looked at the two like they were mad or thick.

So frustrated were the pair that Harry tried to lean back on the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

Karen watched in horror as the barrier behind Harry gave way and he fell backwards through it, almost in slow motion, even as she scrambled after him, feeling like she was moving in water, reaching for him, her hand barely catching one of his flailing palms, his grasp clutching her hand desperately as their fingers intertwined.

She failed to stop Harry's falling momentum, and was in fact pulled into the barrier after him, landing on him with a thump.

With a groan, she picked herself up, helping Harry up with one hand as she looked around, taking in the sights around her.

Here was an abandoned train platform, dusty with disuse. Stopped at the platform was a black-and-red steam engine with numerous passenger cars trailing it.

"This must be Platform Nine and Three-Quarters," Karen said airily, straightening her dress and jacket, dusting herself off with her hands.

"Must be," Harry agreed as he spotted the sign hanging from the wall reading just that.

Karen started pulling Harry back towards the barrier they had fallen through, feeling a growing unease at the abandoned train platform, but stopped when she felt him resist. "What's wrong?" she asked, noticing for the first time the boy's flushed face.

She watched as the boy fidgeted nervously, awkwardly running his fingers through his unruly hair as he clearly gathered his courage to say something. In a way, it was very cute in the way a boy embarrassed by something might be.

After a moment, Harry exhaled deeply and spoke, the words falling out of him in a rush, like a dam had just broke, and she realized just how much courage it took him to say what was on his mind at that moment. "Karen, I've fancied you since the first time I met you. But, you're more than a decade older than me, and I'm going off to boarding school at the end of the month, so nothing can happen between us."

"There's also the fact I think of you like a little brother," Karen said glibly, mischievously pinching the small boy's cheek and eliciting a smile.

"There's that," he agreed. "And your friendship means too much to me for me to want to ruin it with something as silly as sneaking about trying to sneak a peek at you starkers or stealing your knickers or other lacy things."

"Is that what boys do when they fancy someone?" asked the actress with a twinkle in her eye.

"I don't know," said Harry with a chuckle. "I don't have any friend my age, and I'm never going to ask Ethan, Martin or Shaun for that kind of advice; none of them look like they know how to act like a gentleman, and I have to act like a gentleman. Otherwise, I'll be just another wealthy lout."

"Well, you can always ask for my advice," Karen said, leaning over to affectionately kiss the boy lightly on the top of the head. "Promise I won't lead you wrong."

Harry smiled warmly. "That may a long ways off," he protested mildly, shaking his head ruefully. "I just got over my first childhood crush!"

A beat followed, and then he said, "Well, then, that's everything I wanted to get done today."

"To Jason's, then!" Karen said with a laugh, taking Harry by the hand and leading him back through the barrier they had previously fallen through.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** The first chapter to be mostly written from a perspective besides Harry's; I generally try to keep things from Harry's point of view because it's his story, but sometimes, it helps to see the world from a normal person's eyes. Also, there's value in seeing his relationships with those who became his support system. Besides, there's nothing quite like a childhood crush, and then realizing nothing could ever come of it.

My thanks to Shinshikaizer for writing the original pitch, and my friend goalie12345 for editing.


	6. Books & Dice

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 6: Books and Dice**

* * *

Jason nodded to Harry and Karen as they entered Bourne's Comics and Games, and the two returned the the greeting with a smile before they made their way to the back room.

The raven-haired woman looked up from what she was writing as the door to the back door opened, and seeing the young boy, she practically leapt out of her seat, rushing over and seizing him by the shoulders and pull him forcefully into the back room while the brunette closed the door behind herself.

"What's the matter Romy?" asked Harry.

"'Squeak, those gold coins you gave me to test? They're pure gold," said the chemistry post-graduate, practically shaking with excitement.

"I don't get it," the boy said, confused by her enthusiasm.

"They're pure gold, 'Squeak," Romy said. "Not even twenty-four karat gold is one hundred percent gold; because of impurities, twenty-four karat gold is usually only ninety-nine point nine percent pure."

"And the gold pieces are pure gold," said the boy, as the information sank in. "What about the silver and bronze pieces?"

"Also pure," the noirette confirmed, as she went back to her notes.

"And the magical economy runs on these gold, silver and bronze pieces," said the boy, as the gears in his mind turned. "My vault alone is the about half the size of the back room, but the ceiling is higher, and it's almost full of piles of coins, mostly gold pieces."

Romy worked her mouth, trying to find the words to convey her next thought. It was Harry, however, that spoke first.

"I may well be a multi-millionaire," said Harry, and Romy nodded. "It's a shame most of it is tucked away in a vault somewhere."

It was this moment that Shaun and Harry's bearded, bespectacled friend walked through the door, arguing over something, Shaun carrying an open case of Guinness Foreign Extra Stout, an unopened bottle in handle.

"Good timing," Harry said, interrupting the argument. "What's gold worth, 'Fessor?"

"I don't have the exact number, but something like six pounds to a gram," said the bearded man, giving the boy a quizzical look.

"What are the measurements for a gold piece?" Harry asked.

"Nineteen millimeters in diameter and a millimeter thick exactly, and little over 34 grams," said the chemistry post-graduate, as the proprietor of the shop joined them in the back room.

"One hundred gold pieces," said the boy to the pouch around his neck as he tilted it over towards his hand, and out fell a stack of gold pieces standing ten centimeters in height. Picking up the stack of coins between two fingers, he held it up for all those in the room to see as he did a small bit of mental math. "This is worth more than twenty thousand pounds, and it's a small fraction of what I'm carrying now, which is minuscule compared to how much is in my vault, and Karen can confirm how much is in the vault."

"There's a lot," agreed the actress.

"That's half of what I make in a year," said Shaun almost enviously.

"Yet, still not enough to live comfortably in London for a year," said the bespectacled man, shaking his head ruefully.

"But according from what I can gather from the exchange rate, though," said Harry, "I wouldn't get more than five hundred pounds for it at the goblin bank. I could melt this down and sell it and that'd be a better return."

"As long as you don't flood the market."

"What're we talking about?" asked Martin as he came into the back room, dressed in a forest green polo shirt and tailored trousers.

"How much the 'Squeak's worth," said Shaun, nodding to the stack of coins the boy was holding.

"I brought books too," Harry said, noting the disinterest on Martin's face turn into fascination. "Hold up a minute."

Dropping the stack of coins in a pile next to Romy's notes, Harry opened his haversack and reached inside, rooting around for a moment before frowning and putting the bag down on the table and reaching his arm into the bag, seeming to feel around for a moment before he suddenly lost his balance and fell in.

A shocked silence hung in the air for a moment before it turned into panic as the adults in the room scrambled like chickens with their heads cut off, talking over each other as they tried to marshal a rescue. Only Jason seemed unfazed, instead going up to the bag and calling into it, "'Squeak, you hurt?"

"No, landed in some books," the boy called back, his voice seeming to be far away. "Was just a lot deeper than I expected. Give me a few minutes to get organized and bring up some books."

The chaos caused by the panic settled in a low simmer as the others turned to look at Jason, who shrugged. "Better to check the situation before panicking."

"Harry needs money," said bespectacled man. "Pounds and pence; real money, not whatever that magical society calls their coins. If he doesn't have that, he can't do anything in the real world."

"What are you suggesting Ethan?" asked Shaun, frowning.

"We should convince Harry to liquidate some of his gold," said the man as he stroked his beard. "From the way he tells it, he won't miss it, and it'll give him spending power here."

"I could make a few phone calls," said Jason. "I know some people who will buy gold at a fair price, no questions asked."

It was at this moment Harry came flying out of the bag, shirtless and a pair of white-feathered wings sprouting from his shoulders, his wadded up shirt in his mouth and a stack of books carried in his hands, the illusion of wearing a suit dispelled. Landing softly, he dropped the books unceremoniously onto the table, then took the shirt from his mouth as the wings on his back melted back into his body, pulling the shirt back on.

Just as a platinum blonde woman came into the back room, squeaked in surprise and covered her eyes.

"Told you I could fly," he said to Karen, who nodded silently. Seeing the newcomer, he smile. "Hallo Professor," he said, before addressing the room. "So, I need to sell some of this gold if I'm going to buy the rest of the things I'll need before going to boarding school."

"What happened while I was gone?" asked the platinum blonde.

"Short version, Sarah, is there's a secret magic society and Harry's going to magic boarding school on the First of September," said Karen. "He's also secretly a very wealthy. And he brought books from the magical society."

There was a scramble as Sarah, Martin, Ethan and Romy all went for the books; in the end, Sarah came away with _Magical Creatures_,_ My Life as a Muggle_ and _Modern Magical History_, Romy had taken _Living With Legilimens: Choose Your Minds Wisely_ and Martin had _World Mythology_ in hand while _My Life as a Squib_ was the book Ethan had taken. Only after the initial scrum did the others approach the remaining books; after some hesitation, Shaun picked _Animal Ghosts of Britain_ and Karen took _The Dream Oracle_.

"Just to be clear, I took books from the stacks I have in my bag at random," Harry said.

"I'll take care of the sale of the gold," Jason volunteered. "And I'll pay you an advance of two thousand pounds."

"Thanks for that," said Harry with a nod to the hobby shop's proprietor. "A finder's fee would be appropriate, I believe. Will twenty percent suffice?"

"Five percent," countered Jason, crossing his arms with a slight smile on his lips.

"Fifteen," Harry argued back.

"Nine."

"Twelve."

"Ten, and that's my final offer."

"Ten, then," said Harry, and he and Jason shook on the deal.

"That is the strangest negotiation I've ever witnessed," said Ethan, shaking his head.

**~ooOoo~**

It took another half-hour for everyone to settle in and get the table set up for the night's entertainment; in the meantime, Jason had taken the thin stack of gold coins from the table and returned with a handful crisp of fifty-pound banknotes, counting forty into Harry's hands and making good on his word, while Shaun had finished off another bottle of Guinness and started on another one. The proprietor, in the meantime, had returned to the front of the shop to watch some teenage students who had come in to peruse the selection of comics available for sale.

Clearing his throat, Martin assumed a deep, ominous voice. "Picking up from where we left off last time, you are in a dark, dank dungeon, having just pulled the camp you set the previous night to nurse you wounds. The air is thick with dust and gloom, and the oppressive weight of Hendarr, Lord of All Dark Things, weighs upon you like a thousand sleepless nights."

"Poetic, as always," Sarah remarked.

The man in the green polo shirt gave her a dirty glance, but otherwise continued his narration. "In the eastern passage from whence you came remain the traps Hildy laid before your group set up camp for the evening." As Romy pumped her fist in silent victory, Martin continued. "In the northward wall, you see the only other door to the chamber, barricaded by furniture and barred with a thick iron beam, still there from the previous night."

"We unbarricade the door, then open it," said Sarah.

Martin placed down a set of map tiles with a nod. "Then?"

"I could send a _mount_ through first in case there are traps," said Harry.

"Hildy will lead, carefully searching for traps," said Romy with a negatory shake of her head as she played with her dice.

"I'll follow closely with my sword drawn," Shaun said.

"I'll follow with an arrow nocked," the actress declared.

"And I'll bring up the rear," Harry said, getting a nod of agreement from Sarah.

With the formation of the group declared, the miniatures on the table moved into the hallway without any help and then stopped, ask if awaiting the story to continue.

Behind the paper screen, Martin rolled some dice. "About three meters into the corridor, you manage to stop just short of breaking a barely visible tripwire set at knee level."

"Hildy attempts to disable the trap," Romy said, picking up two ten-sided dice and rolling them onto the table after a quick shake in both hands.

The first dice stopped quickly, showing a "0"; the second dice, bounced twice before hitting the screen between the dungeon master and the players, ricocheting almost in slow motion before it also landed on "0".

"Shit!" swore the noirette, frowning.

Behind the screen, Martin rolled a fistful of dice. "As you are working on disabling the tripwire, you accidentally tug it too hard and a blade descends from the ceiling, slicing deep into your skull and tearing loose a chunk of hair, skin and bone from your head. You take fifty-four points of damage and need a save throw against death."

"Fuck," Romy cursed in frustration, throwing her dice hard against the table in frustration. "Hildy's already below zero hit points."

Curses filled the room as Romy pushed her seat away from the table angrily, standing up as the miniature representing her toppled over. "I'm going to have Guinness," she announced, and Shaun nodded sympathetically.

"You can only watch in horror as the halfling collapses bonelessly to the floor, brains spilling from her cleft-open skull like scrambled eggs out of a knocked-over skillet," Martin narrated. "Meanwhile, the blade has ascended back into the ceiling, leaving the twitching pile that is Hildy's remains as the only evidence of the trap's existence."

"I'm sorry, Romy, I offered," said the boy to the noirette, and she smiled weakly.

"Wasn't your fault," she said. "Just the dice."

"Well, I'm going to cast _mount_ with...," said Harry, stopping when he felt a hand on each of his shoulders.

"No actually casting the spell," reminded Shaun firmly.

"Remember, the first time you cast a real spell in a game, we had to write off the table, the map and the miniatures because it was _burning hands_ and you torched everything we were using," added Martin.

Harry flushed in embarrassment at the memory. "I cast _mount_ and send it down the corridor to check for traps just to be safe," he said, marking down something on the paper before him before taking a miniature of a horse from a box next to the map and putting it onto the map ahead of the miniature representing his character.

"I move out of the way," said Shaun.

"Me too," Karen and Sarah echoed.

"I slap the horse on the rump and send it down the corridor," said Harry.

Martin checked his notes, then resumed narrating, which made the horse miniature start moving along the corridor on the map. "The horse starts down the hallway in a trot and continues down the length of the corridor unharmed, stopping only at the door at the end."

"We follow the horse," Sarah said, and remaining players nodded in agreement, causing the miniatures to move after the horse miniature.

"I try the door," said Shaun.

"The door is not locked and in fact has no handle," narrated Martin, picking up another map tile as he spoke. "As soon as you put a hand on it, it falls off its hinges, revealing a high-ceilinged antechamber." Reaching into the box besides the map, he plucked a larger miniature from its peers and placed it at the center of the new tile with a grand gesture. "At the center of this chamber, you see a humongous, ungainly creature with rubbery, moss green hide: a troll."

"That's a hill giant," said Rosemary as she sat back down at the table, an opened bottle in hand.

"What?" asked Martin, confused.

"The miniature," Harry said. "It's a hill giant."

"Oh, right," said Martin, going back into the box of miniatures to find the one he was looking for before replacing the one on the map with it. "Roll initiative."

"Harry, you roll," Shaun suggested, and the other players all looked to Harry, who shrugged and rolled a ten-sided dice. "One."

Behind the screen, Martin rolled dice. "You go first."

"I charge the troll with my sword," said Shaun, and his miniature immediately made a beeline for the troll miniature at the center of the new map tile even as he rolled his dice. "Four!"

"You swing your sword at the large, lumbering brute of a creature, but you miss. The troll sneers at you, its jagged yellow teeth showing themselves as its lips part."

"I release the arrow I have nocked," said Karen, as she rolled dice. "Eight."

"Your arrow goes wide of the troll's head, flying until it strikes a wall and clatters to the floor."

"I cast _Melf's acid arrow_," said Harry, marking down something on his paper before rolling dice. "Twelve."

"From your fingers flies a sickly green of acid that strikes the troll in its shoulder, making it roar furiously in pain. Roll for damage."

Harry quickly rolled more dice. "Five."

"I cast _bless_," said Sarah, "centered on Rickard."

Behind the screen, Martin rolled dice for several moments, then said, "The troll flails wildly with its claws before biting Rickard. He takes 7 from a claw attack and 10 from a bite."

"I attack the troll with my sword," said Shaun, rolling dice again. "One. Shit."

Behind the screen, Martin rolled more dice. "I'm sorry Shaun, but as you attack the troll, you trip, flinging your sword into the air. When it falls back to Earth, it pierces into your skull just above the base, killing you."

"That's... terrible," said Shaun, taking a long pull from his beer between words before slumping in his chair. "I hate fumbles."

"This is going badly," said Sarah darkly. "I cast _sanctuary_ on myself."

"I cast _Melf's acid arrow_," said Karen, before nudging Harry as she rolled her dice and marked her paper. "Thanks for letting me learn that from your spellbook. Two, shit."

Harry quickly rolled his dice. "Seven damage from the _acid arrow_," he said, before marking something else and rolling more dice. "I cast _flaming sphere_ on the troll. Five damage."

Martin rolled dice and made notes, then said, "Livid, the troll charges at Jalsi. He hits claw, claw, bite, for twenty-one hit points damage."

"I'm dead," said Karen with a sigh, flicking her character sheet across the table with a sigh.

"Go back to town, I'll distract the troll," said Harry to Sarah, who frowned but nodded. "I roll the _flaming sphere_ to the troll. Seven damage."

As Martin made notes, Sarah said, "I retreat back down the corridor which we came from."

Martin quickly rolled some dice, then shook his head. "As you are retreating from the skirmish, you step on a upraised tile in your haste and the floor opens under you. You call into a pit filled with huge iron spikes, taking seven damage from the spikes and twenty one points of damage from the poison the spikes are laced with."

"And that's me," said Sarah, angrily tearing up her character sheet.

"I think this is it," said Harry, after looking at his character sheet for a moment. "I don't have anything that will let me handle this troll, and even if I did, I can't return the way I came from, so all I'd be able to do is push ahead, on my own, and that'd kill me eventually."

"You could always flip the table," Romy suggested.

"And get banned for a month like I did last time?"

Martin nodded his understanding. "I'm sorry, the dice just unkind today. The troll, however, reaches down, seizing you and lifting you off the floor. The last thing you see is the creature's jagged teeth, and its rancid breath stains your lungs even as you scream in agony when the creature bites into your body, tearing you to two pieces at the waist."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And here comes the gore.

Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition is notoriously brutal, and this was an example of that. TPKs weren't uncommon when the dice weren't rolling your way, and I wanted to capture that feeling of misery, particularly as a former AD&D 2E player.

Again, my thanks to Shinshikaizer for the original pitch, and goalie12345 for proof-reading.


	7. Romy, Shopping & Organization

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 7: Romy, Shopping & Organization  
**

* * *

It took another half an hour to wrap up the game and put everything back into place and clean up the back room; Shaun had departed shortly after the game had ended. Ethan, Karen and Martin followed shortly after the cleaning was completed, leaving Harry with Romy and Sarah until Sarah excused herself and left; Romy, however, offered to walk Harry home, not wanting him to brave the streets alone. However, Harry was still wary of what had happened the previous day and asked to use the store phone; when he called home, the phone rang without answer, confirming his suspicions that his aunt and uncle had not returned home, and when she learned of this, Romy insisted he use her sofa at the very least.

Before they left Bourne's Comics and Games, Harry made a few purchases, acquiring his own copies of _Ars Magica: The Art of Magic_ and _Shadowrun: Where Man Meets Magic and Machine_, two books he had read often and had become the basis from which he had begun studying magic on his own but never had a chance to read closely, for the first time. He also purchased several decks of playing cards along with a stack of tabletop games: _Battleship_, _Cluedo_, _Life_, _Monopoly_, _Pictionary_, _Scrabble_, _Trivial Pursuit_ and _Yahtzee_; if he was going to boarding school, he wanted to make sure he would have enough things to keep him entertained when he wasn't studying magic. It all went into one of the smaller pockets of his haversack, and he made a mental note to buy some furniture to better organize the things he kept in there.

**~ooOoo~**

The cab ride to Romy's dorm room was pleasant, filled with small talk, giving Harry the chance to get to know his benefactor for the night better, learning more about the post-graduate student attending Eastmere College's chemistry program. For a university, Eastmere College was not particularly prestigious, but it was a university nonetheless, and more importantly, it was within Romy's means, even if it meant she had to work on Monday and Tuesday at a lab in London while classes were in session to pay her tuition in full and not be in crippling debt; during the summer, she worked all five business days of the week, saving for the rest of the year.

The placard outside Romy's room read "Rosemary Davies", and for the first time, Harry realized he did not know the full names of several of his adult friends. As Romy had told him while showing him around, the three women she shared the flat with were away at the moment, likely drinking at a pub, but the disarray of the flat told the boy they would likely not be gone for long.

"Are you hungry, 'Squeak?" Romy-but-full-name-Rosemary asked, as she checked the refrigerator. When the boy nodded, she said, "What kind of takeaway would you like?"

"I could cook something," Harry suggested, adding, when he saw Rosemary frown, "It'll be less expensive and more healthy."

"I don't know, 'Squeak. The fridge is a little empty."

"Let me see," said the boy, squeezing by his friend to have a look. "Give me thirty minutes, and I'll make supper."

Romy frowned but did not protest; her financial situation was not unclear to her, and if Harry could cook something on his own volition using what was in the refrigerator and pantry, she would not decline the inexpensive meal.

**~ooOoo~**

It took Harry only twenty-four minutes to finish preparing the meal. With some old coriander one of Romy's flatmates had bought and forgotten, two tomatoes that had started to wrinkle, an onion that was starting to sprout in the pantry, a bag of jalapeno peppers he had found at the very back of the fridge and had to carefully dissect to remove the fuzzy mold growing on them, and the juice from half a lemon that had become a little dried out after sitting uncovered in the refrigerator, Harry had created a simple salsa; he had then trimmed the edible parts from a several pieces of raw meat spoiling away in the refrigerator and chopped it finely before mixing it with stale bread he had broken into crumbs by hand, cracking an egg into the bowl of bread and minced meat that he then worked by hand until he had formed balls that he fried in a skillet. Watching Harry in the kitchen, Rosemary was amazed by the skill he displayed; although she knew he had been made to cook for his aunt, uncle and cousin, she had no idea he was so proficient at it, particularly his ability to use a knife to prepare food.

Looking down at the plate in front of her, Romy hesitantly stabbed her fork into a meatball and put it into her mouth, biting into it gingerly. Though a little dry, it was flavorful, beef, chicken and pork with salt and pepper; when she added a helping of the salsa to her bite, the freshness of the vegetables suffused the minced meat, giving an interesting mixture of textures to the mouth.

"It's good," she said, unable to help herself.

Harry shrugged without looking up from his plate. "It's food."

They finished the meal in a comfortable silence while Romy silently wondered at Harry's ability to turn a seemingly barren stock of food into a filling meal, envious of his skills as a cook. Too often, she found herself having takeaway in the evening, and she resolved to learn to cook and to cook something besides instant noodles more often.

"Go take shower, I'll clean up," said Romy, as Harry started to gather the dishes; the boy cocked his head to the side, giving her a questioning look before shrugging and departing down the hall.

**~ooOoo~**

Rosemary Davies awoke with a start. Groaning softly, she rolled over and checked the clock on the table by her bed.

7:30 AM.

Sitting up, she got out of bed, and for the first time, she heard the muffled sound of conversation and wondered who was chatting away; normally, her flatmates kept to themselves, greeting one another only when they passed by in the hall.

Dressing quickly and running a brush through her hopelessly tousled hair, she opened her room door and was immediately struck by the scent of coffee. Wandering into the kitchen, she saw it was much cleaner than when she had left the previous night, and Harry was serving her flatmate a breakfast of back bacon, eggs, sausage, mushroom and tomatoes at the table while steaming cups of coffee sat at the table by their hands.

"Good morning," Harry said as soon as he saw Romy. "Coffee?"

"Thanks," Romy said, as she took a seat at the table. Peering at the food on her flatmates' plates, she asked, "Where'd did the food come from?"

"Went to Tesco," said the boy, putting a cup of steaming coffee onto the table in front of Romy. "Fry-up?"

As Romy nodded, spooning sugar into her cup, and her flatmate nudged her under the table with a foot. "Why did you never tell me Harry was this adorable?" she asked.

"I don't know, Davina," Romy said, pouring cream into her coffee before taking a sip. "Never came to mind, I guess."

"Well, I need to go," said Davina, as Harry set a plate of food before Romy. "Work and all. We should do this more often."

With that, she was on her way, leaving Romy alone with Harry and a heaping plate of food.

"You didn't have to do this," Romy said, taking a bite of the food.

Meanwhile, Harry had taken Davina's discarded plate and began to wash it in the sink. "There are a lot of things I didn't have to do, but I want to, so I did."

**~ooOoo~**

By the time Romy left for work, Harry had finished the washing up and also restored the living room, where he had spent the previous night, to some semblance of order. They left the flat together, and though Romy worried about what he would do for the day, Harry reassured her repeatedly he would be fine on his own.

Finally on his own, Harry checked the list he had made for himself, having disembarked from the London-bound train with Romy before going his own way, though she had made him promise he would be at Bourne's Comics and Games that evening for the session of _Shadowrun_ that night. With that, though, he was free, and he knew he would need to make the most of his time.

His first stop was John Lewis & Partners. He needed what was in the department store: affordably priced clothing with which to build a presentable wardrobe, electronics he would need to make his life easier while away from home, and all kinds of other sundry supplies to help him prepare for everything else. Though he had already purchased a few items while he had been at Tesco so he was no longer wearing the hand-me-downs he had previously received from his cousin when they no longer fitted him, he still wanted a more diverse selection available to him, and had decided to first check prices at the store with the slogan "Never Knowingly Undersold" to make the most of his money.

Ikea was next. While John Lewis & Partners stocked bookcases, Harry had found them a bit expensive, and he would need many cheap ones to fit all the books he had already bought and planned on buying later. A few trips in and out of Ikea with a shopping trolley, and Harry had a dozen bookshelves for his needs, as well as a cabinet, a wardrobe and a number of shelves.

The rest of the morning was bookstores, buying a book here, a handful there. He had made certain assumptions about what he would learn at Hogwarts based on the books he had been made to buy as part of his shopping in Diagon Alley, and Harry found the likely lack of instruction in subjects regularly taught in schools for students his age disturbing; thus he had made the purchase of literature, mathematics, sciences and social studies textbooks a priority. After that was reference books, a full set of encyclopedias and a sizable stack of science fiction and fantasy novels, as well as a few books on every subject he could think of.

**~ooOoo~**

The Footman was a small inn situated only two blocks away from Bourne's Comics and Games, owned by an elderly couple who had be proprietors for several decades. Though they had been reluctant at first to rent Harry a room for the rest of the month, he had persuaded them to see things his way after he painted a picture of the abuse and neglect he had suffered at the hands of his aunt, uncle and cousin, along with the nothing the authorities had done when said mistreatment had been reported to them; the scars on his body from the beatings administered by his cousin sealed the deal, and after he paid the deposit for lodgings—a bit less than seven hundred fifty pounds—he was shown to a homely room.

Alone at last, Harry opened up his haversack and set it on the floor besides the bed before he allowed himself to fall in, landing in the pile of blankets he had piled at the bottom and rolling off quickly and to his feet. He had a lot to get done, and not a lot of time before he had to be at the comics and games shop for that evening's game of _Shadowrun_.

Taking the parts out of the boxes was not difficult; it was the assembly that proved the hard part, and the instructions were less help than he had hoped for. Nonetheless, Harry persisted, and though it took him the better part of ten minutes to figure out the instructions and put together the first of the bookcases, he flew through the rest of the dozen in the hour and a little more that followed, leaving him with a neat row of bookshelves lining one of the walls of his haversack.

Organizing his books, however, was not nearly as easy a task; not only did he have the hundreds of tomes from Flourish and Blotts to sort through, there were also the numerous volumes he had purchased earlier in the day during his tour of the bookstores of London. Luckily, he had learned about the Dewey Decimal Classification in school and had been able to purchase a book with more details about the system, so he set about using it to label and organize all the books he had purchased that day, all while also listing the details for each publication inside a thick, hardback notebook he had purchased specifically for the purpose.

The collection he had purchased from Flourish and Blotts, however, turned out to be a problem. Melvil Dewey apparently did not know about magic, and thus magic was not accounted for by the filing system he had invented, leaving Harry to find a way to catalogue the books; wanting to stay true to the system he was already using, but with all the positive numbers already in use, Harry ultimately decided to use negative numbers for his collection of books from the magical society while also leaving himself space for in case if other paranormal phenomena proved itself to be real and to have nonfiction books published about them.

Only after he had finished filing all his books did Harry check the time with the wristwatch he had purchased earlier in the day. Noting he only had a mere hour before he had to be at Bourne's Comics and Games, he decided to take a shower first and made notes on what he still needed to do to be truly organized: put away his new clothing purchases in the wardrobe and cabinet he had yet to assemble, neatly put away his electronics and sundry purchases on shelves, and design and produce a kind of elevator to make entering, exiting and transferring goods to and from the haversack easier.

But first, a shower, and then _Shadowrun_ with his friends. And on his way back, he retrieved the owl he had left at 4 Privet Drive, because he had no real desire to let the bird starve when he was likely going to find a use for it in the future.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Harry has life skills. And he will use them for the benefit of himself and his friends.

A shorter chapter, a bit of slice of life, but think of it as a calm before a storm.

Once again, my thanks to Shinshikaizer for the original pitch, and goalie12345 for proof-reading.


	8. Revelations & Repercussions

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 8: Revelations & Repercussions**

* * *

"Harry, I think the magical society may be systemically racist," Sarah said to Harry when he walked into the back room of Bourne's Comics and Games Saturday morning; he had not seen her since Thursday because she did not play _Shadowrun_, but she had clearly been reading.

"And good morning to you too, _omae_," said Harry, as he sat down across from Sarah. "What exactly makes you say that?"

"I've been a sociology professor for over a decade," said Sarah, before tapping the stack of books on the table before her. "I have never read literature that is as systemically discriminatory against a single group of people as the books from this wizarding society are."

"Can you explain in more detail?"

"Witches and wizards view non-magical people as inferior to them. This isn't just a minority view; all three books I borrowed were written by different authors, yet all three discussed non-magical individuals like they are less than magical people. They even have a special term they use for non-magical people: 'muggles'."

"I take that's like calling travelers 'pikeys'?"

"Worse," said the sociology professor. "It's more akin to the deep south of the United States during the time of the American Revolution; persons of African descent were considered less than human, and they had specific terms they used to dehumanize them, and the magical society is still doing this to the non-magical population. They systematically consider people of non-magical origin to be beneath them; if a witch or wizard is born of non-magical parents, they are called 'muggle-born' and can be called 'mudblood', which is a slur, as you'd expect, and if they have one parent with non-magical heritage and one of magical heritage, the term used is 'half-blood', in contrast to those of two parents with magical heritage, who are called 'pureblood', with all the things associated with the superiority of purity."

"That's really bad," Harry said. "But that's just one example, though. I mean, it's a terrible one, but I know you're not the type of person to just jump to conclusions so quickly; you have more evidence, don't you?"

"You would be correct," said Sarah, as she picked up _Magical Creatures_ and flipped to one of her bookmarks. "Goblins, for example, are routinely referred to as 'beasts', even though they are apparently officially classified as 'beings' and are certainly intelligent enough to do the banking for the magical society at large. It's like when European explorers would call indigenous peoples 'savages' when they first met them, except magical society has known goblins for generations."

"I take magical society considers themselves enlightened," said Harry.

"More so than non-magical people," the professor said. "It's not hard to understand why they would, though; after all, they have magic. It would like an alien species with interstellar travel came to Earth and decided humanity was a lesser species."

"That's troubling," Harry said, rubbing his forehead with his palm. "Say I don't like the term 'muggle'; what term should I be using to describe people without magic?"

"'Non-magical' is one," said the sociology professor. "You could also use 'mundane', I guess, or, given that only a minuscule population is capable of magic, 'normal' fits perfectly well."

The boy considered the information he had just learned and sighed. "I'm going to have to give this a lot of thought."

"You should," said the sociology professor. "Change for the better doesn't happen without people thinking about ways to improve the world."

It wasn't what Harry had meant.

**~ooOoo~**

The hits just kept coming.

Harry knew something was wrong when Romy stormed into the back room Tuesday evening, face afire with indignant passion.

He had been reading _History of Magic_ when he had looked up at the noise of the door slamming open against the wall, but the look on the chemistry post-graduate's face left a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He was about to learn something that would make his skin crawl.

"They can read minds, 'Squeak!" Romy snarled angrily without prompting. "Not only that, but they can manipulate memories too!"

"I take you mean people with magic?" asked Harry, sitting back in his chair and taking off his glasses, rubbing his temple between thumb and middle finger.

"They're like evil mind controllers!" Rosemary continued. "Can you imagine what they can do to people if they have that kind of power?"

"Use mind control to make sure nobody in a position of power helps me," said Harry darkly.

The comment stopped Romy dead in her tracks. "Harry, I didn't mean…"

"It makes more sense than bribery," Harry said with a grimace. "You can always track the source of money, but if they use mind control, there's nothing to trace back to them."

"I'm sorry 'Squeak," said Romy. "I wasn't trying to…"

"Doesn't matter now," said the boy as he dropped the textbook into his bag with a sigh.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to find a way to defend my mind."

**~~ooOoo~~**

Enchantment was something Harry did not particularly enjoy doing. Creating the self-moving miniatures had been easy; when he had read the tale of the golem in a book of Jewish folklore, it had seemed like a perfectly simple thing to try, especially after he had learned of enchanting from the magic chapter of _Shadowrun: Where Man Meets Magic and Machine_, but the truth had been the complete lack of details made the process very opaque and research-intensive. While he was able to animate the miniatures as golems by simply inscribing them with אמת and then drawing power from the Astral plane and using it to suffuse each miniature, every other successful enchantment he had created afterwards had taken hours of dedicated research and preparation to produce the desired result.

Yet, enchantment was the only real choice Harry had in defending his mind; unlike other forms of magic, enchantments stayed active even after he was no longer focused on them, and it was the only form of magic he could trust to protect his mind even when he was asleep.

Thus, he found himself at the public library, pen in hand, notepad on the table and books of hieroglyphs, runes, sigils and symbology stacked around him. There were not many such books, but it was a good enough place to start.

Everything he had ever read about defensive enchantments, even if it was written by normals, was that such an enchantment began with an unbroken circle, and so he began his undertaking with one as well.

Harry had been lucky with finding a book of viking runes in the library's oversized collection; within it, he found the first step in creating a mental defense: ᛉ, _algiz_, a rune of protection, of the higher self, of the control of emotions. Carefully, he drew the rune within the circle, and the result was an upside-down peace symbol.

He then took some time to decide whether such a simple ward would be a strong enough defense against those who would seek to trespass against him; while simplicity was good, ultimately, those who would seek to do him harm would never be stopped easily given what his life had been like so far. If he was at the center of a conspiracy as he suspected, then it was safe to assume people would go very far to ensure they remained capable of influencing him, and that meant he would need a deeply layered defense.

Once he knew he wanted his mental defense to be layered, Harry consulted a book of numerology to find the best number of layers for the ward he was constructing. Six was the number he came away with, a number signifying responsibility, balance, fluidity, cautiousness, and, most importantly, protection.

Adding the Eye of Horus was his next step. He had found it in a book of Egyptian hieroglyphs and symbology and had read that it protected anything it looked upon, and for just that alone he was willing to add it as a layer of defense for his mind.

The tree of life, recognized by cultures and traditions around the world as a symbol of wisdom and protection, was the third layer. He reasoned, if it was recognized by people from all around the world in all walks of life, then it was likely because it held power.

The fourth layer of defense, he decided, would be a Celtic shield knot. A symbol of protection, it would further shield him from the intrusions against his mind if he layered his defenses correctly.

Harry could not deny the inclusion of the pentacle as a fifth layer of defense even though it was commonly attributed to the practices of satanists, particularly after he had done some reading regarding the symbol and its origins. Historically used as a pagan symbol to represent the four elements and the self, it was a defensive symbol that had been in use since the medieval period in Europe, and he saw no reason why people misattributing and misusing it while also inverting it should prevent him from using it in self-defense.

It took Harry many more books before he could find a sixth symbol he felt comfortable with as the final layer of his mental defense. Ultimately, Harry chose a labyrinth design within an ouroboros for the final layer of his defense; if he designed the layered defense correctly, the labyrinth would shuffle those who penetrated one layer of his mental defense into the next, and were they to penetrate that layer of defense, the labyrinth would shuttle them to another layer of defense, creating an infinite loop of protection for his mind.

Even after he had finished picking the layers of the defense, Harry still had much ahead of him. If he did not organize the protections effectively, it would all be for nought. Choose the wrong medium, and he might as well invite others into his mind with a welcome mat.

Considerations for medium came first. Jewelry was out of the question; it wasn't permanent and could be removed with only a small effort on the part of those who might wish him ill. Branding and scarification would be too obviously visible, making visible his defenses to those who might want to breach them. Given this, Harry felt his only real remaining choice was a tattoo, and one on his scalp no less; once his hair grew back, it would become effectively invisible.

The problem of tattoos, however, was materials. Normal tattoo ink would not be enough to hold the magical power from the Astral plane Harry would need to infuse into the tattoo, and were it possible, he would prefer tattoo made with an invisible ink so even if he were to lose his hair for some reason or another, it wouldn't be completely obvious he was protected. And for material information, he would need to consult with experts later.

Organizing the defenses of the tattoo, however, was something he could do now. The Eye of Horus would need to be at the very top, to watch over and protect everything within its view, and thus, everything beneath it. The labyrinth would need to be between _algiz_ and the world tree, to link the two layers of protection for his mind together; since the tree of life had interpretations beyond protection and wisdom, it only made sense it would appear above _algiz_ in the protective tattoo,so that it could also provide abundance, beauty and strength. The pentacle, connecting air, earth, fire and water to the spiritual, was even more broad than the tree of life, and would thus need to be between the Eye of Horus and the cosmic tree, leaving the Celtic shield knot as a last, complicated line of defensive layer at the very bottom of the design.

Soon, he would need to talk to Shaun about where he had gotten his tattoos. But first, he needed to do research about materials.

**~ooOoo~**

After a talking with Shaun that evening about getting a head tattoo, Harry spent the next two mornings in London, going to various florists and new age shops to ask questions about their products, mostly the meaning of flowers and the properties of gemstones. With what he had learned, he purchased a large planter of white cinquefoils, two pots of mint and two of sage, non-toxic plant all associated with protection; he could use the latter two in his cooking, and had no intention of wasting them on just the fabrication of ink.

Gemstones were much harder to procure, particularly in the quantities he needed them at, and he had to pay above market value for them, but pay for them he did. He was lucky Jason had been able to sell the gold Harry had left in his care and deliver eighteen thousand pounds as promised, and by Thursday night, Harry had a large chunk of labradorite, a piece of blue kyanite the size of his head, and a hunk fluorite that could pass for packs of playing cards encased in precious stones. All of the stones had been selected because of the defenses they were thought to provide: labradorite to serve as a shield against psychic attack and fixation, blue kyanite to prevent his mind from being manipulated in any way, and fluorite to cloak his aura to avoid psychic attacks, curses and sorcery.

From there, Harry began the process of manufacturing the inks he wanted to use for the tattoo. Having made sure all the ingredients he selected were not toxic, he set about creating an ink that would also hold be able to hold onto the Astral power he channeled into it; he had selected the color blue because it was associated with truth and protection. While he could easily reduce the stones and vegetable matter to a fine powder through his magic, combining them together with water to create a pigment capable of holding astral power was much more difficult; since the appointment with the tattoo artist was scheduled for Sunday afternoon, Harry skipped Friday night's _Shadowrun_ to experiment with and run tests on inks, but still needed until mid-morning Sunday to finally create a half-dozen inks in different shades of blue for use in the tattoo.

**~ooOoo~**

The truth was, Harry had never been really close to Shaun, even though he knew the older man would never willingly put him in harm's way. It had been Shaun's warning that had kept him from flaunting his magic; Shaun's innate distrust of authority had led him to warn Harry of the possibility of being captured by the government and used in experiments to determine whether they could weaponize his magic for widespread military applications, and he had taken the lesson to heart, never showing his magic to anyone outside the regulars of Bourne's Comics and Games tabletop games. As Harry still had his freedom, the advice had served him well.

When he had told Shaun of the circumstances of why he needed to get a tattoo on his scalp, the man was understanding and arranged a meeting with a tattoo artist when her shop was closed for the weekend. He had sat with the boy as he got his head shaved by a licensed barber in preparation for the tattoo on his scalp. Now, he stood beside him outside the tattoo parlor, where the boy was about to do something there would be no coming back from.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Harry?"

"What other option do I have? Let them read my mind, wipe away my thoughts, control me by manipulating my memories?"

With those words, Harry rapped his knuckles on the heavy wooden door. After a long moment, the lock clicked and the door swung open; getting a nod from Shaun, he ventured inside, knowing his friend would only be a few steps behind him.

Unlike everything he had ever imagined a tattoo studio would be, the interior of the narrow shop was well-lit, with many framed tattoo designs hanging from the sparse white walls. Near the back of the room was a leather salon chair adjacent to a desk and a few filing drawers.

"Who do we have here?" asked a warm, silky voice, low with unspoken invitation.

Harry spun on his heels in the direction of the voice as the door clicked close behind Shaun; locking the deadbolt was a beautifully pale noirette in a white tank top, skintight black jeans and heavy-soled leather boots, intricately designed and colored tattoos covering her wrists to her shoulders like sleeves.

"Grace, this is Harry, the friend I was telling you about," Shaun introduced. "Harry, Grace."

As they shook hands, Harry felt himself being drawn in by Grace's gaze, her crystal blue eyes seeming to search his.

"How old are you, Harry?"

"Turned eleven on the last day of July."

Grace gave Shaun a disapproving look. "He's too young to have a tattoo."

Harry, meanwhile, gave Shaun a similar look. "Is she discrete?"

Shaun looked sheepish at the woman's veiled accusation, but gave the boy a quick nod.

Harry sat down on one of the chairs by the door, eyes narrowing as he examined the noirette. "I'm about to show you something that you will have to keep a secret," he said. "I won't show it to you unless you promise to carry the secret to your grave. And I mean this seriously."

"Is this secret dangerous?"

"Only if you tell someone, anyone, and even then, mostly to me."

Grace's brow furrowed as she considered the proposal for a moment, then smiled playfully. "Okay, I'm in."

Harry nodded, sitting up straight as he crossed his wrists right over left, thumbs hooked together and fingers spread wide as he exhaled with his hands near his waist in the _Garuda mudra_, incanting, "_Rego auram_."

The noirette's amused expression quickly gave way to eyes widening in bewilderment as she was gently lifted off her feet by no more than the air beneath her. Floating a couple feet from the floor for a few moments, she suddenly felt the weightless cushion beneath her disappear, and she safely dropped the short distance to the floor, landing on her feet with a thump as her heavy boots hit the hardwood floors.

"How is that possible?"

"Magic is real," said Harry. "There's a secret magical society that has existed for centuries, hidden away from normal people, and they have the power to read minds and manipulate memories, which is why I've designed a tattoo that will provide layered protection for my mind."

"They can tell what you're thinking and change your memories?" Grace asked in horror.

"Yes," said Harry, recognizing what the tattoo artist was stuck on. "That's why you have to carry the secret to your grave. You tell somebody, the witches and wizards will show up to erase your memories of magic existing, while the military will likely capture me to experiment on. So, you'll lose a bit your memories, but I'll get locked up in a lab and cut open like a science experiment."

The noirette swallowed as this information sank in. "And this tattoo will protect you from having your mind read and tampered with?"

"Me and anybody other magical individuals who get it," said the boy, once again recognizing where Grace's thoughts were headed. "For normal people, all it'll be is a tattoo; it will not work unless Astral power is infused into the ink while the tattoo is being created."

Another beat followed. Then, "How can I tell if I'm magical?"

"My understanding is, if you were magical, you would have received a letter during the summer of your eleventh year notifying you of your acceptance to a secret magical boarding school."

"Oh."

"So, are you willing to do this?"

"Why do you need it?"

Harry sighed as he once again recounted what was his life story thus far. "My parents were killed by a 'dark lord', words of others, not mine. I was then placed with abusive relatives; when Shaun and my other friends reported the abuse to police, nothing ever came out it. Wednesday before last, somebody suddenly shows up to tell me I'm wizard and I've secretly been wealthy and famous all along. I'm the beloved chosen one who defeated the last 'dark lord', again, their words, not mine, and they're going to scoop me up and take me away to a secret world of magic where people in the streets just can't wait to shake my hands.

"And the punchline is, the people plucking me from my plight are also the people who've kept me from my fame and wealth, both of which I might have been able to use to protect myself."

Silence hung in the room as the noirette digested the story Harry had just told her. Then, "May I see the designs?"

Without a word, Harry reached into his ever-present haversack and withdrew a manila folder and handed it to Grace, who leafed through the loose sheets of paper, each covered with a hand-drawn tattoo design. "I need these tattoos on top of each other, in a specific order."

"Each one of these will take somewhere between ninety minutes and three hours to complete, and you'll need four weeks for each tattoo to heal properly before I can do the next one."

"Magic can speed the healing," said Harry resolutely. "Does this mean you'll tattoo me?"

"Of course," Grace said with a warm, reassuring smile. "I do have to warn you though, a head piece is not a good idea for a tattoo virgin, and normally, I would never do a head tattoo on somebody who is getting a tattoo for the first time."

"Aren't I special?" said the boy, a little more sarcastically than he intended. "I'm sorry, I'm just under a lot of stress, being savior of a secret magical world and all."

Grace placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "What order are these tattoos meant to be in?"

"The Celtic shield knot is at the very bottom, then the Norse rune _algiz_ inside a protective circle, followed by the labyrinth surrounded by the Ouroboros biting its tail and not eating itself. Next is the world tree, which is before the pentacle, and the Eye of Horus is last, but all of the tattoos have to be inside a protective circle that you will need to redo with each layer."

The tattoo artist considered what she had just been told. "Is there anything else I should know?"

Harry reached once again into his haversack, this time retrieving a rack of six inks in varying tones of blue and placing them into Grace's hands. "These are special inks I made just for the tattoos; they contain powdered flowers and gemstones which I have ascertained are non-toxic but will also absorb the Astral power I will be channeling into it as the tattoos are being made. The tattoo needs to be as large as possible while still being small enough so that my hair will hide it when it grows back, and while there can be breaks between tattoos, there can't be any while a tattoo is being inked and not between the the viking rune, labyrinth and world tree."

"This could take up to eighteen hours," Grace said as she looked through the designs again. "The viking rune, labyrinth and world tree together could take up to six hours in one go. Are you sure you're up for it?"

"I have to be."

"We best get started then."

**~~ooOoo~~**

In hindsight, a head tattoo was a not the best idea Harry had ever come up with, but at the time, it was all he could think of to protect his mind from trespassers and would-be mind controllers.

The tattoo took the better part of two days to complete, with breaks for relieving biological needs and restoring concentration in between the inking of different layers. While Grace was applying ink to skin, Harry found himself gritting his teeth against the pain, but it was really no worse than the times his cousin had kicked him in the head, and given what was at stake, Harry was willing to bear the agony of what felt like a needle being dragged through his scalp. He was, however, grateful for the earplugs the tattoo artist had given him, as it rendered the noise made by the tattoo gun bearable, though it did nothing to dampen the vibration that felt like they were rattling his brain around in his skull.

Between the layers of that tattoo, Harry had used his magic to rapidly heal the skin where ink had been injected; all it took was "_creo corporem_", the _prana mudra_ and a burst of power drawn directly from the Astral plane, and skin which would have taken weeks to heal recovered in a matter of minutes. Every time he did this, though, Grace watched in wide-eyed amazement, and he had to remind himself that, for normal people, real magic was not an everyday occurrence.

Through it all, he kept Astral power flowing steadily into the ink as it was shot into his skin as part of the tattoo, and the design glowed faintly as it was suffused with magical power. Only when each set of tattoos was properly completed did he taper off the flow of magical energy to the defensive sigils, and even after the glow faded, he could feel them continue to draw from the Astral plane on their own without his help, and he knew the defenses would hold even without additional effort on his part, though he could strengthen them greatly at any time by infusing the mental defenses with additional Astral energy.

By the time Grace finally told Harry the tattoo was truly complete, the boy had become numb to the pain of the needle working over his scalp. One last "_creo corporem_", _prana mudra_ and burst of Astral power healed the skin and the tattoo in minutes, then another "_creo corporem_" and _prana mudra_ saw thick black hair sprout from his scalp, obscuring the tattoo in seconds as his raven locks once again became the tousled mop that topped his head.

Yawning as he rose from the salon chair, Harry reached into his haversack and retrieved a stack of fifty pound notes, carefully wrapped in a bill strap indicating its one hundred count, and tried to hand it to Grace, who looked stunned by the money the child was handling like small change.

"This isn't what we agreed on," she protested.

"We didn't agree on anything," Harry said with a smile. "Your quote was three thousand, six hundred eighty pounds. The other thousand, three hundred twenty is a tip. Thirty-five percent is pretty common, I've been told."

"I can't take this much," Grace insisted.

"Listen Grace," said Harry as he took one of her hands in his own, gently laying the stack of bills in her palm as he looked into her eyes. "I am wealthy well beyond you probably imagine I am, even if it is almost all in gold, and you've done me a huge service. Not only that, you did so at great risk to your professional life, and I'm still asking you to carry a secret to the grave."

The beautiful tattoo artist swallowed but could not find a counter-argument as Harry took her other hand and placed it on top of the money already in her hand.

"Besides, I might need more tattoos in the future," said Harry with a slightly predatory smile, "and I would like to start this relationship off in a positive manner."

Nodding to Shaun, who come to the tattoo parlor not long after his work day had ended, Harry cracked his back. "You can keep the inks," he said, nodding with his chin towards the half-used vials strewn across Grace's desk. "They contain mint, sage, white cinquefoil, blue kyanite, fluorite and labradorite, which can all be used in psychic defense, should a client come and ask for such a tattoo."

Harry wobbled on his feet; keeping a channel flowing with Astral power had been draining, and it was time to go back to The Footman and get some sleep.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Penny in the air... penny drops... but I did say that some shit was going to happen this chapter.

As some people may note, Harry really likes using lexicon from _Shadowrun_.

Once again, my thanks to Shinshikaizer for the original pitch, and goalie12345 for proof-reading.


	9. How to Train a Skeptic

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 9: How to Train a Skeptic**

* * *

Wednesday morning, Harry awoke feeling completely refreshed. For the first time in a long time, he came to his senses without feeling the fog of sleep making him groggy, and he rose from the comfortable bed with a renewed sense of purpose, ready to face the day. Thus, when Hermione's phone number tumbled out of his bag when he accidentally knocked it over while getting dressed, he decided it was as a day as any to contact the bushy-haired brunette and called the number she had given him not long after he had breakfast.

As luck would have it, Hermione answered the call, but Harry did not know that.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Granger residence?"

"It is. May I ask who's calling?"

"Harry Potter, for Hermione Granger."

"Harry! It's me, Hermione!"

"Oh, hey, Hermione. Do you want to meet up before school starts on the first?"

"Yes! That would be wonderful!"

"What day can you meet me on?"

"I need to ask mum and dad."

A beat followed.

"Mum says she can take me on Friday. Where can we meet?"

"How about Bourne's Comics and Games? One Hundred Eight Walwyn Road, Little Whinging."

Another beat followed.

"Mum says that's okay."

"Friday morning, then?"

One more beat.

"9 A.M.?"

"Works for me. I'll see you then."

**~ooOoo~**

Elizabeth Granger had expected many things of a place named Bourne's Comics and Games, but what she had not expected was a spacious hobby shop with pane glass windows for natural lighting, stocked with beautifully crafted bookcases filled with all manners of trade paperbacks, hardcover volumes, box sets, recent issues and boxes of board games.

"Welcome to Bourne's Comics and Games," greeted the tall, ruggedly handsome man with salt-and-pepper hair and a short, obviously well-cared-for, boxed beard standing at the counter, smiling warmly while his eyes watched the newcomers' from behind a pair of rimless glasses. "I'm Jason Bourne, and no, I'm not _that_ Jason Bourne; I was Jason Bourne before the books, and I'm the Bourne whose name is on this shop."

"I'm Elizabeth," said the woman, as she shook the shop owner's hand. "And this is my daughter, Hermione. She's supposed to be meeting with a friend here."

Jason turned his head towards the back wall and called out, "'Squeak, your friend's here."

There was a moment of nothing, then the door swung open, and through it came the same boy she had met on the last of July, though he was much better dressed than before.

"Good morning, Missus and Miss Granger," said the boy. Receiving a nod from the shop owner, he gestured towards the back of the shop with one hand. "If you would be so kind as to come this way, we can use the back room."

Elizabeth took the boy's offer, taking her daughter by the hand and leading her towards the back of the shop even as the girl's head moved quickly to and fro, eyes wide as she took in the sights of a place that sold various books.

Passing through the door to the back area of the shop, she was greeted by a cozy room with several sofas, bookcases, filing cabinets and boxes lining the brick walls, while a single large table surveyed its surroundings from the center, with a half-dozen or so chairs of various construction and materials littering its perimeter. Strewn across the table were several books, a notepad filled with notes and diagrams, a glass of water and a number of pens of various colors.

"I apologize for the mess," Harry said with an apologetic smile. "I was reading some maths textbooks and working on some exercises and time just got away from me."

Hermione had already over at the bookcases, reading the titles along the spines.

"Missus Granger, if you have things you to do, Hermione can stay here with me," said the boy. "Otherwise, you can stay and observe."

"Why maths?" Elizabeth asked, curious at the boy's choice of study materials.

"Hogwarts doesn't teach literature, maths, science or social studies," said the boy. "Hogwarts students spend seven years without being taught those subjects; why do you think that is?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth said. By this time, Hermione had finished her inspection of the books around the room and had made her way back to table, where she was paying rapt attention to the conversation that was going on. "Why do you think that is?"

"My guess is control," Harry said darkly. "Take children from the age of eleven and isolate them from normal society by not teaching them the skills they would need to live in that world, and you end up with adults who cannot function in normal society, which means they end up having to live in magical society." Seeing Hermione's look of concern, he added, "Don't worry, the walls are soundproof; it can get pretty rowdy back here during game nights and movie nights."

"They're witches and wizards!" the girl protested. "Why would they live among muggles?"

"Don't use that word," said Harry.

"What word? 'Muggle'?"

"Yes," said the boy. "I've been talking to a sociology professor, and magical society use of 'muggle' is pejorative. They use that term specifically so they can look down on normal people, like they're quaint simpletons who aren't even worth their time. Magical society has memory manipulation magic that they use on normal people without even asking their permission; they do that when they don't respect them as equals, but instead seems them as inferior."

"But…"

Harry cut the girl off. "Hermione, you seem to really love books, so I'm going to assume you've read the books you've bought from Flourish and Blotts."

"Twice so far," said the girl proudly.

"Okay, then," Harry said. "Think about the books you've read. Have they ever used the term 'muggle' in a way that's complementary to normal people?"

Hermione fell silent as she thought over what she had read; concentration quickly gave way to panic as the realization dawned on her that what the boy had been saying was accurate. "But…"

"I can see you're starting to get the picture," Harry said with a sigh. "The questions you should be asking yourself are 'what?' and 'why?'."

"'What?'?'Why?'?" asked Hermione, unable to properly comprehend what was suggested.

"Yes,," said Harry. "Why is someone telling you something? What do they have to gain from it? What don't they want you to know? Why don't they want you to know it? What are they hiding? Why are they hiding it?"

"That's a very dark view of the world, Harry," cautioned Elizabeth.

"Ms Granger," said the boy, turning towards her, "an evil magical bogeyman came to my home and murdered my parents when I was a toddler; he apparently tried to murder me too, but for some reason did not and instead disappeared, with no traces to be found. I was then placed with my relatives, who neglected and abused me, but when they were reported to the police, nothing ever came of it."

"That's horrible," said Hermione's mother, as her hand went to her mouth in alarm.

"Oh, it gets better," said the boy. "On the last day of last month, Albus Dumbledore sends that drunkard Rubeus Hagrid to retrieve me from my relatives, and the process, introduces me to a world of magic, where I'm apparently wealthy and famous, and beloved by the people, and yet that was kept from me and none of it was used to help my situation with my relatives."

"Maybe they didn't know," Elizabeth suggested.

"Then why was the first letter addressed to, 'the Cupboard Under the Stairs'?"

"You live in a cupboard?" asked Elizabeth, horrified.

"Not anymore, but that's besides the point," said Harry. "My worldview is grim because my life experiences have shown me the world is not a kind place."

"But Dumbledore is considered the greatest light wizard of the modern era," Hermione protested.

"Let's break this down. Why?"

"'Why?'?" Hermione asked, once again confused.

"Why is Dumbledore considered the _greatest_ light wizard of the modern era?"

"Dumbledore defeated the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald in 1945," the girl recited.

"Yet He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named is considered the 'darkest, greatest and most powerful Dark Lord of all time'," Harry argued. "And his defeat is most commonly attributed to me. Shouldn't that make _me_ the _greatest _light wizard of the modern era?"

"Don't be silly," said Hermione. "You were only a baby then."

"So why is Dumbledore considered the greatest light wizard of the modern era, and by whom?" asked Harry. "What evidence is there that he is even a _light_ wizard?"

"He defeated the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald."

"You don't need to be a good person to defeat a bad person," Harry countered. "Just look at gang wars if you need examples of bad people killing other bad people. And history is written by the victor because the defeated aren't around to tell their side of the story."

"He discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood."

"That's like discovering penicillin; on its own, it's neither good or bad, just useful."

The bushy-haired girl worked her mouth as she tried to formulate another argument but found that she couldn't. Harry saw her bewilderment and chose to press his advantage.

"Let's examine who calls Dumbledore 'the greatest light wizard of the modern era'," he said. "Who specifically calls him that?"

Hermione rapidly rattled off a list of names.

"Why would they call him that?"

"Because he's the greatest light wizard of the modern era."

"We just demonstrated there's really no hard evidence of that, though," said Harry.

Once again, the girl found herself without an argument.

"Do you want to know what I think?" asked Harry.

Hermione nodded.

"I think it's propaganda."

"Propaganda?"

"Non-objective information primarily used to influence people and advance an agenda, usually through selectively presenting facts or using loaded language to encourage results in a certain viewpoint being established," explained Harry.

"But why?"

"That's a good question," said Harry, "and I'm glad you asked. My guess is control."

"Control?"

"Let's say I told you there was a man who was the prime minister of the United Kingdom, the United Nations Secretariat and the chancellor of the _only_ school in Britain," said Harry, turning to Hermione's mother. "What would you say?"

"I'd be suspicious of him," Elizabeth said. "Nobody should have that much power."

"And if everybody told you he was the greatest person to have ever lived?"

"Well, then… wait."

"Exactly," said Harry. "Dumbledore is the Chief Warlock, the Supreme Mugwump, and the Headmaster of Headmaster of Hogwarts. If he wasn't considered the greatest light wizard, people would likely be very suspicious of his motives."

"I can see that," said the woman thoughtfully.

"All right Hermione," said Harry, as he turned back to the girl. "Tell me something you read in a book about the magic and how it interacts with the normal world."

"Electricity, and computers and radar, and all those things, they all go haywire around magic," Hermione said after a moment of thought.

Harry thought about it for nary a second before he started laughing. "That just can't be true."

"What? Why?"

Harry once again turned towards Elizabeth. "Your husband was wearing a wristwatch when he was in Diagon Alley, correct?"

"Yes…"

"Is it battery operated?"

"Yes…"

"After you left Diagon Alley, did he have to reset his watch because magic had interfered with it and made it 'go haywire'?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

Harry turned back towards Hermione. "That's proof number one," he said. "Now, tell me, where is Diagon Alley located?"

"In London?"

"If electronics 'go haywire around magic', don't you think people would have noticed it? I mean, there would have to be an entire electronics chaos zone around where Diagon Alley is, which is right in the middle a populated city, surrounded by shops, office buildings and the like. Do you think people are really so stupid they wouldn't notice something like electronics not working?"

Silence hung in the air as Hermione tried once again to process being told something she had read was possibly untruthful. "But why would they say that?"

"Again, control," Harry said. "If you tell people technology won't work near magic, you are forcing them to pick a side, either the normal world or the magical world. Because you won't find an electrical socket anywhere in the magical world, people will not be able to really experiment with normal technology while they surrounded by magic

"Speaking of which, I need to buy a portable power generator so I run do some experiments."

"Experiments?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I clearly can't trust what's written in books, since they're very obviously skewed with anecdotal evidence and hearsay, so I'm going to have to run controlled tests to establish what is real and what isn't."

"But they're books!" the bushy-haired girl protested. "They wouldn't be printed if they weren't true!"

"In saying that, you're ignoring the entire fiction genre," said Harry. "But let's put that aside for the moment and examine something else.

"Tell me, Hermione, what do your books say about me?"

"That you defeated You-Know-Who..."

"Hearsay. Nobody else was there, so they can't possibly know the details, and I was a toddler. What else?"

"You survived the Killing Curse..."

"Again, nobody was there, so that's also hearsay."

"You fought werewolves!"

"Werewolves are real?"

"You explored the ancient tombs of dark wizards in Europe!"

"Never been outside of England. Don't even have a passport."

"You battled Death Eaters!"

"What even _are_ 'Death Eaters'?"

And thus the exchange continued for several minutes, with Hermione listing one deed after another attributed to the boy while Harry rapidly refuted them with his own experience of his life.

Finally, Hermione exhausted all the exploits she could remember being attributed to Harry, and Harry had quashed all the claims, leaving the bushy-haired girl in silence.

"So, as we've just proven, almost nothing that's been written about me is factual," said the boy.

"But why would they do that?" asked Hermione.

"Good question," Harry said. "If nothing else, I'm guessing it's earned them a lot of money. People do love to gossip about their celebs, and greed is a powerful motivator."

"But why you?"

"They call me 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'," said Harry. "From what I can gather, I'm some kind of magical chosen one, and of course people want their chosen ones to be heroic even as a child."

Hermione worked her mouth, clearly trying to find something to say, and Harry realized he might have to go easier on her.

"Listen, Hermione," he said. "You seem like a nice person. Smart, too, but really trusting, especially of books. And you're well-read, so you've read a lot of books. You just don't strike me as somebody who thinks too much."

"I do think lots!" Hermione protested.

"Not critically, though," the boy said, smiling as kindly as he could. "Look, it's good that you like to read and inform yourself, but you need to always need to ask 'why?' when you're reading. People don't write books unless they have something they want to say, and you need to question why they're saying it and what they have to gain from it. I mean, sure, they all have money to gain if they're published, but even so, they're trying to accomplish something with whatever they're writing, and you should be questioning their motives."

"And why are you telling me this?" asked Hermione, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"You seem bright," said Harry, lips curling into a slightly predatory smile. "And a mind is a terrible thing to waste, especially in ignorance and mindless conformity."

"You make it sound like you're doing this out of the kindness of your heart," said Hermione.

"I would do that, wouldn't I?" the boy said lightly. "You have to determine for yourself what my motives actually are; if I were to tell you, you won't be able to trust it because it came from me, and it would defeat the point anyways."

Harry gave Hermione a moment to chew on what he had just told her before he decided to change the subject, not wanting to tell her Sarah and Martin had taught him everything he had just been teaching her not long after he had found Bourne's Comics and Games.

"So, what do you do for fun?"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** A bit more of Harry's paranoia and conspiracy theorist side coming out, and Hermione has to bear the brunt of it for now.

Again, credit and thanks to Shinshikaizer for the original treatment, and goalie12345 for editing.


	10. Running the Shadows

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 10: Running the Shadows**

* * *

"Fun?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Fun."

"I read."

"You only read? You don't play games?"

"Games?"

"_Battleship_? _Cluedo_? _Monopoly_? _Chess_? _Dungeons & Dragons_?"

"Not really," said Hermione. "And what's '_Dungeons & Dragons_'?"

"It's a role-playing game," Harry said. Seeing the confusion on the girl's face, he elaborated. "Basically, it's a game where you pretend to be somebody else, with their knowledge and skills, and there are rules to determine whether you successfully do things based on their ability."

"But why?" asked Hermione.

"Look, I like to read, but reading is pretty passive," said the boy. "With role-playing games, I can be given a problem and have to figure out how to solve it with only what my character has at their disposal; that makes me think critically and try to find a solution on the fly.

"Besides, it gives me a chance to spend time with friends."

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Hermione whispered, so softly Harry almost didn't hear.

"Wouldn't know anything about what?" asked Harry.

"Friends," admitted the girl, seeming to shrink into herself.

"You don't have friends?" asked Harry. "What am I, chopped liver?"

"Are we friends? All you've done is criticize what I think."

"I thought that's what friends are supposed to do," said the boy. "I mean, besides spending time with you because they enjoy your company, aren't friend supposed to point out your flaws so you can fix them and make them no longer your weak spots?"

"I don't know," said the girl. "I've never had friends."

Harry turned towards Hermione's mother. "C'mon, help me here."

"Friends should be supportive," said Elizabeth. "They shouldn't be afraid to be honest and tell hard truths, but being trustworthy and supportive is the more important."

"I'm sorry," apologized Harry, as he turned back to Hermione. "I don't have any friends my own age, so I'm used to being friends with people much older than me, and I guess they're more amiable to overlooking my social ineptitudes."

Hermione nodded solemnly. "I accept your apology," she said, smiling weakly. "I'm willing to try playing a game, if you think it'll help me with my critical thinking."

"That's great," said Harry. "We're playing _Shadowrun_ tonight, so let's start by making you a character to play with."

"I was thinking more of a board game to start with," Hermione protested.

"We can do that too," said Harry, "but I bet you'll really love playing _Shadowrun_. C'mon, let's make your character first, and then we can play some board games until the evening."

**~ooOoo~**

It took a few hours, but with Harry's help, Hermione was able to create a character she could be proud of: a former wage mage skilled in analysis who had left the employ of an Aztechnology subsidiary when she discovered the company's corrupt practices, Helena had quit her job and set out to balance the scales. Even though she had not dived into the complicated character generation system included in the rulebook and had simply chosen to work with a character archetype, Hermione still felt like she had done something interesting.

"You'll still need a street name for your character," said Harry, as Hermione filled out the sheet used for tracking her character's details.

"A street name?" asked Hermione.

"An alias for your character's professional life, like a military callsign," the boy explained.

"What's your character's?"

Harry smiled, and for a moment, Hermione didn't understand why. Then, she heard him speak.

"Miss, Ah'm Whiplash Hunter, from Louisiana," said Harry as he adopted the familiar drawl once again, tipping an imaginary hat as he did so. "Whah, itsa plehshah ta meetcha."

"Hunter Whiplash is a character from a role-playing game?" asked Hermione, visibly surprised.

"Of course," said Harry. "Think about it: a character you play in a role-playing game has a personality you're familiar with, a backstory you wrote yourself, and mannerisms you know because you've pretended to be that character before. It's really a perfect cover identity, if you think about it, so long as you can acquire the proper identification documents."

The girl considered it for a moment. "That makes sense, I suppose. So, what do you think my street name should be?"

"Wells Danger," said Harry, after a long moment of consideration.

"Wells Danger?" asked Hermione.

"Your initials are H and G, which makes me think of H. G. Wells," the boy explained. "And Danger just rhymes with Granger."

"That just silly," said Hermione with a smile. "I like it."

"Well, with that done, let's go over the basics of the rules so you'll be familiar with them before you play with the group tonight."

**~ooOoo~**

A fast learner, Hermione had grasped the basic rules of the system by mid-afternoon, giving the children just enough time play a few rounds of _Battleship_ before the other regulars began to filter into Bourne's Comics and Games. Introductions were made, hands were shaken, and small talk was had as they waited for everybody to arrive.

It was only just before sunset that everyone had settled in with their refreshments of choice. Romy sat at the head of the table, a few notebooks spread out on the table before her, while around her, the other participants were in various states of relaxation.

Taking a long sip from the highball glass besides her, Romy raised a hand and brought silence to the room before she began her narration.

"It's twenty-one hundred hours when you receive a message from Adona, your fixer," said Romy. "She has a job for you, but as usual, she wants to meet in person.

"When you get to the Ragdoll, a mid-end club in downtown Seattle, you find Adona her usual back booth, sipping on a steaming cup of soykaf while scrolling through a digital organizer; as soon as she sees you, she waves you over, and you all gather around to hear the job specs.

"As it turns out, Adona has a client who wants to hire some runners to hit a warehouse in Penumbra tonight, raid the cargo and deliver it to a drop site in the Barrens."

"Harry, you didn't say anything about stealing," Hermione said, alarmed. "Stealing is wrong!"

Harry shot Romy a look. "What other details can Adona give us?"

Romy flipped a couple pages in one of the notebooks, then wrote something down in another. "When you press her for more information, Adona relents and tells you the client is a street doc who is struggling with the influx of patients in her street clinic who have contracted a new strain of influenza; she managed to ply a guard who worked at the warehouse with enough alcohol for him to let slip they had received a shipment of antiviral medications that the corp is planning to sell for huge profits. The client is hoping to get her hands on the merchandise and distribute it for free out of her clinic to the SINless who can't afford to buy the meds from a retailer."

"See, we're hooding," said Harry.

"Hooding?" asked Hermione, frowning at the term she did not recognized.

"Like Robin Hood," said Karen. "Stealing from the rich, to give to the poor."

Hermione frowned, and Harry caught it. "Sometimes, you have to pick between bad choices, and if you don't, somebody will else will. At least if we do this, we'll do it right."

"Do it right?"

"We go in quiet, secure the site and get out with a minimal body count and zero exposure," Shaun explained. "Another team might try it guns ablazing, dropping bodies unnecessarily and damaging the merchandise."

"All right," said Hermione reluctantly. "But we don't hurt any innocent bystanders."

"We can dae 'at," agreed Jack with a nod. " What's th' offer fur pay?"

"Adona offers you 600 nuyen per person for the job," said Romy, before rolling a handful of dice. "However, with some time and cajoling, you manage to negotiate the fee to 700."

"All right," said Harry brightly. "Let's get on the legwork."

"Legwork?" asked Hermione.

"The preparation for the job," clarified Harry. "Before going in, we have to prepare, or else everything will go bad because of bad intelligence or some other factor."

"I'm going to meet up with some of my street contacts, see what I can squeeze out of them," said Karen before rolling a fistful of dice. "Two sixes, three threes and a two."

**~~ooOoo~~**

It took two hours to complete the legwork for the mission, mostly because partway through the preparation for the job, Kip the Ear, one of Marilyn's—Karen's character—contacts was abducted by a group of thrill gangers looking to get their rocks off beating and torturing the homeless SINless youth while high on psychotropics, leading Karen to rally the team to the youth's rescue, charging into the warehouse with weapons and magic firing at full force. Though she was philosophically opposed to violence, Hermione had found the experience thrilling and cathartic, and being the savior to an oppressed teenager made her feel good about herself, which in turn made her question what she really believed she was capable of.

After the rescue, the rest of the legwork proved to be fairly ordinary; by the end of it, the players had managed to secure plans to the building, the duty roster for the evening and even janitors' kits as disguises and a few keycards for access, yet most of it had flown by Hermione's head. Even though she had managed to help with the legwork by using her _Clairvoyance_ spell, Hermione felt lost in a lot of the flow of the game as Harry and the other players spoke in jargon she had no understanding of; she was only able to get the jist of what was happening through Romy's colorful narration, and the confusion was not a feeling she appreciated.

Nonetheless, the job seemed to be going well; the team had been able to enter the facility under the guise of a cleaning crew, quickly and quietly subduing the guards on site by threatening them with weapons before handcuffing and gagging them, then going to the central security room and disabling the CCTV feeds. Once that had been done, they loaded the crates of medication into the box van Zero Day—Jack's character—had stolen for the job.

Unfortunately, that was where the job had went sideways, with a crew of heavily-armed mercenaries blowing through a wall with a breaching charge and coming in with smoke grenades and overlapping fields of fire. Outnumbered and outgunned, the situation looked grim for the crew under the players' control even as they took cover and exchanged gunfire with the newcomers with the big guns and heavy body armor.

Desperate to help the group but with a character not particularly skilled in combat, Hermione was trying to figure out what she could contribute in such a situation when her eyes fell on the _Chaotic World_ spell listed on her character sheet. Though it was a gamble, she chose to risk it, and after Harry's Whiplash Hunter and Shaun's Nero had successfully flushed their attackers into a small area with a combination of bullets and grenades, Wells Danger cast _Chaotic World_ with as much Force as she could without killing herself, and though she did not resist the Drain from the casting, their attackers also failed to resist the effects of the spell, and thus found themselves blinded, deafened and overwhelmed by olfactory and tactile sensations as the magic took hold of them, rendering them defenseless even as Nero and Whiplash Hunter carried Wells Danger to the van before the team made good their escape, depositing the van at the designated spot before returning to Adona to be paid for the mission.

In the aftermath of the game, Hermione felt a sense of elation she had never experienced from just reading books; even though she had mostly sat and listened, she somehow felt she had managed to accomplish amazing something despite having not left the game shop all day, like she actually had a hand in helping people who needed it.

She was reflecting on the experience so intensely that she didn't even notice Harry speaking, and it was only when he touched her lightly on the shoulder that she jerked to attention. "What?"

"From the look on your face, I can tell you're trying to process the experience," said the boy, offering Hermione a store brand bottle of lemon-flavored fizzy drink.

"It's like I was reading a story, except I was part of it too, and because I was part of the story, what I did affected the outcome," reflected Hermione aloud. "It's different than just reading."

"That's role-playing," said the boy, taking a pull from his drink. "It's exhilarating, imaginative, downright addictive and most importantly, wish fulfillment. You get to be your best self, or the best version of an aspect of yourself, when you're playing a role-playing game, and you get to do with your friends."

"I think I like it," said Hermione.

"That's good," Harry said. "You should do things you like."

**~ooOoo~**

The next two weeks fell into a kind of routine: Saturday and Sunday, Harry would catch the train to London and walk the High Streets and markets where he could find them, visiting bookstores and specialty shops, acquiring more material possessions that he thought would make his life at boarding school easier. Then, he would make a list on Monday morning of the projects he wanted to start on during the week, often of items he wanted to enchant with specific magics that would make the object more useful to him or books he would want to finish reading, and spend the rest of Monday and all of Tuesday in the library doing research for each project. Wednesdays and Thursdays were then spent on enchanting the objects he wanted to create, before Friday came around, bringing Hermione Granger back to Bourne's Comics and Games to discuss the schoolbooks he was reading and she was re-reading and to ask questions about _Shadowrun_ and other role-playing games before spending the evening playing _Shadowrun_ with the regulars of the hobby shop, even though her attendance reduced them to only hooding.

While Harry had many enchanted objects he wanted to create in preparation for attending a school where electricity was not readily available, he ultimately failed in producing workable solutions for most of his ideas. Radio and television to keep in up with the happenings of normal society was beyond the scope of what he could manage with his lack of specific knowledge on how either device worked, and his attempts to simply use runes and sigils to generate power for the devices he was trying to create always ended in them frying when the magic inevitably produced electricity at too high a voltage. It also meant the Discman he had purchased for listening to music could not be powered by magic, and he bought a case of double A batteries to power the device and other similar small electronics he had acquired.

He had, however, managed a few successes. First was an ice chest he had enchanted to maintain freezing temperatures even in the absence of ice; this has been the easiest project to complete, as it had only required the carving the ancient viking rune _isa_ into all of the interior walls of the container, then inlaying the negative space with seraphinite, a gemstone found in only Siberia, and infusing the inlaid stones with magical energy. Once he had realized how easy it was to construct such a self-cooling ice chest, Harry had made an additional one.

The second was a more complex creation. Taking a meter long length of gidgee, Harry had shaped it into a two-inch diameter rod before removing a half-inch of its core with magic, filling it with finely powdered coal he packed in as tightly as possible before transforming it into a solid cylinder of diamond and adding diamond inlays to the ends of the wood, fusing the end pieces with the dowel running through the heart of the pole before using magic to warp one end into a large hook, a tricky task because it required him to manipulate both mineral and wood at the same time, something that took him a dozen attempts to get right, with each failed one destroying the rod he had previously made, though he learned to simultaneously warp mineral and plant matter with magic by the time he achieved the result he wanted, so he had gained something despite the wasted materials. From there, he engraved runes along the length of the wood with the point of an industrial grade diamond before filling over the etchings with a plaster created with a combination of ground amber, powdered diamonds (created from coal) and resin, then polished the surface of the rod until smooth and painted the wood with a fine layer of varnish while leaving the diamond ends untouched. When Harry channeled Astral power into the rod, it became impossible to move, and he intended to use it in his daily calisthenics, though he imagined he could find other uses for it as well, since it was shaped like walking cane.

His final project, however, was the most important one, and he had devoted a good deal of energy, including several sleepless nights, to seeing it through. It had started as a vague idea after he had come upon a goods lift at Ikea and slowly grew in complexity as it niggled away in the back of his mind until he could no longer ignore it, particularly if he wanted to keep his head down at Hogwarts and not stand out. That Jason had been able to sell another two hundred gold pieces had been extremely beneficial to the project, as it gave him resources to purchase the materials needed to produce the final product, an enchanted redwood platform that could bear weight while moving freely around the interior of his haversack's main pocket, and though the materials he had wasted to reach the final product had been costly in his mind, it in truth would be barely noticeable besides the bulk of his inheritance, something he kept reminding himself as a consolation.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I know the last section doesn't really feel like it belongs with the rest of the chapter, but I really wanted a clean break before sending Harry off to boarding school, where things are really going to accelerate.

If you enjoy reading this (or if you hate reading it, though I don't know you'd stick around 10 chapters in if you hated it), feel free to leave a review. I may have went to school with a young lady who said, "Enthusiasm makes me exhausted", but luckily, I'm not her.

Once again, credit to Shinshikaizer for the original story treatment, and goalie12345 for copy-editing.


	11. Hogwarts Bound

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 11: Hogwarts Bound**

* * *

The last day of August had been a hectic one for Harry; a Saturday, he had taken a train to London once more, visiting Diagon Alley one final time before the school year started while incognito in order to purchase a second snowy owl that could have been the twin of the one Hagrid had purchased for him, which he then took back to Bourne's Comics and Games and left in Jason's care so his friends at the hobby shop would have a way to contact him while he was away at boarding school; he had also taken the opportunity to name the owls Leia and Luke in tribute to one of his favorite series of movies.

After that, he had visited Tesco again, this time in the company of Romy, filling a shopping trolley with all kinds of nonperishable foods—beef jerky, boxed pasta, canned beans, dried fruit, energy bars, peanut butter, ramen noodles and water in bottles—until it was nearly overflowing, then filled a second trolley with sacks of fresh fruits, large hunks of various cheeses and products from the meat department, being bringing it to the cashier and paying for his purchases in crisp fifty pound notes. He also purchased several tubs of ice cream in various flavors, a set of kitchen knives, a cutting board, a butane-fueled camp stove with several cans of fuel and a few pots and pans. The fruits, cheeses and meat went into the ice boxes he had made, while the rest were sorted onto shelves in the main pocket of his haversack, which was fast becoming a combination between a library and a disaster bunker. In a way, preparing to go to boarding school was like running away from home.

He left the money he had left after making his final purchases for the summer minus a few hundred pounds in the care of Ethan, trusting the economics professor to invest his money carefully in exchange for a commission that he had to insist the professor take.

That night, the regulars had gathered at Bourne's Comics and Games for the last movie night before Harry went away to Hogwarts; to celebrate the momentous event, the theme of the evening was school, and thus, the regulars found themselves marathoning _The Breakfast Club_, _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_, _Three O'Clock High_ and _Pump Up the Volume_ amidst shared laughter, groans and pizza.

It was a fine way to spend the last evening before shipping off to boarding school.

**~ooOoo~**

The regulars had wanted to see Harry off to Hogwarts, but Harry had no desire to attract unnecessary attention to himself or for long, teary goodbyes, and thus awoke early to complete his daily exercise regimen and pack the last of his belongings, leaving the payments for bed and board along with a note explaining his early departure and thanking his hosts at the reception of The Footman before he let himself out inn he had slept in the last month.

Jason was waiting for him at the kerb, leaning on the roof of a sleek black sports coupe with his arms crossed, fingers tapping against the sleeve of his leather jacket. Seeing the boy, he gestured for him get in the car before getting in himself and starting the engine.

Harry let himself into the car, plopping down into the passenger-side seat and buckling the seatbelt over himself. "Was I that obvious?" he asked.

"Maybe, 'Squeak," said Jason. "But that's who you are."

"What gave it away?"

"You always answered evasively when asked which train station you needed to go to."

"What should I have done?"

"Lied with complete confidence."

"So, where are we going?"

"King's Cross Station. That is where you're boarding the train, isn't it?"

"I never mentioned it."

"Romy did, though, when she read your ticket out loud."

"Do you remember everything?"

"Only the important things."

"You're going to have to teach me that trick one of these days."

"Maybe when you get back from school."

A beat followed. Then, something occurred to Harry.

"What about the others?"

"What about them?"

"Won't they be livid I left without saying goodbye? And even more so when they find out you helped me do it?"

"As a man, there will be times you have to decide between doing something that will make other people happy and doing something you can live with for the rest of your life."

"So you couldn't live with saying goodbye to me with everybody else?"

"I couldn't live with myself if I didn't give you something before you went to boarding school. Check inside the glove box."

Harry pulled open the compartment, then recoiled as if bitten. "You want me to have a gun?

"What? No!" said Jason, as the car pulled up to a stop light. Leaning over, he pulled a small object from the glove box before closing it, dropping the item into the boy's lap. "This."

Harry closely examined what the hobby shop proprietor had dropped in his lap, turning the handle-shaped mass over carefully in his hands. Finding the button on the side, he held it up to the light and cautiously pressed it, and almost instantly, a sharp blade flipped out.

Cautiously, the boy folded the blade back into the handle. "Is this even legal for me to have?"

"Not particularly, but a boy your age shouldn't be without a knife."

"I have an entire set of kitchen knives."

"They're not knives you can easily carry around."

"That's fair. So, why do you have a gun?"

"I would love to tell you, but then, of course, I'd have to kill you."

"_The Hounds of Baskervilles_? Really?"

"What can I say? The classics never die."

Harry chuckled. "Seriously, though."

"No, seriously."

**~ooOoo~**

The rest of the car ride had been filled with ultimately meaningless conversation. Harry had tried to use to opportunity to dig deeper into Jason's past, something he knew little about, but he made little headway; the few concrete answers he did get were quickly contradicted by an another answer Jason would give him, making the boy wonder just how much he really knew the man who owned the hobby shop.

Now they were at King's Cross railway station, just outside the barrier through which Harry would need to pass to get to the train to his boarding school.

"Listen, before you go, a few things," said Jason, grasping the boy by the shoulders and looking him dead in the eyes.

"People are stupid, so don't ever care what other people think about you.

"You're famous, 'Squeak, so people, even famous people, are going to want things from you. Find out what they want. Figure out what it'll cost you and what they're willing to give up for it, then decide whether it's worth it or not.

"And most importantly, don't let people stop you from doing what you have to do, because they _will_ try and stop you, and if you let them, they _will_ succeed, The only person who is going to be looking out for you while you're away is yourself, because we're not going to be there with you."

"Thanks for the rousing speech," said Harry, as Jason released his shoulders. "I should go."

"I'll be seeing you."

"Likewise, chummer."

**~ooOoo~**

Three hours early for the eleven o'clock train, Harry found himself the only person already at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and easily secured a compartment in the passenger car furthest from the engine. Sitting down with his back to the wall, facing away from the window to his right, he put on a pair of fit-over sunglasses over his round-framed spectacles and pulled his ball cap down hard over his forehead before putting the earphones from his Discman into his ears and pulling up the hood of his zip-up jumper over his hat. Quickly flipping through his binder of compact discs, he selected Incredible Bongo Band's _Bongo Rock_ album and put it into the music player, quickly thumbing it on and reaching into his bag to pull out a book, a notepad and a pen to take notes as he read.

So engrossed he was with his reading and note-taking that he didn't notice the appearance of the bushy-haired brunette until she was knocking on the compartment door. Looking up from his reading at the sound, he nodded at Hermione, who was shyly peering into the compartment, pulling the earphone from his left ear. "Come in, Hermione," he said as he checked his watch. "You're two hours early."

"I thought it might be you," said the girl, bounding eagerly into the compartment and stowing her trunk under one of the seats. "Only you would go out of your way to dress like… I never asked, what should I use instead of 'muggle'?"

"'Normal'," said the boy, having already gone back to his book. "The Ministry estimates there to be fifty thousand magical individuals in all of the United Kingdom; London alone had a population six-point-seven million in eighty-eight and all of England had a population of more than forty-seven million last year. That means the magical population of the United Kingdom would make up about a tenth of a percent of the population of just England; that's a very minuscule segment of the population, enough to deem the rest of the population as normal, rather than exceptional."

"But isn't that discriminatory towards people with magic?" asked Hermione, having taken a seat.

"We're not calling them 'abnormal', though," Harry said. "In fact, by calling them 'magicals', we're actually calling them exceptional, and in a way with positive connotations."

Hermione considered what Harry had said for a moment, then nodded. "Well, you're the only person who would go this far out of his way to dress like a normal person."

"Hey, I've got to hide who I am if I don't want to get swarmed," said the boy with a smile before slipping into a lazy drawl. "'Memba, Ah'm Hunter Whiplash of the Louisiana Whiplashes, studyin' at Hawgwarts wahl mama is servin' as a diplomaht to the Ministry."

"That accent is still so exaggerated," said Hermione with a giggle. "What are you listening to?"

"The Incredible Bongo Band," said Harry, offering the brunette the free earphone after wiping it off with the hem of his jumper.

Hermione took the offered listening device hesitantly and placed it in her ear, listening intently, but quickly found her head nodding in time with rhythm of the drums. "It's catchy," she admitted, before handing the earphone back.

Harry politely turned off his music and pulled out the remaining earphone, depositing it into a pouch hanging from a hook clipped onto the lip of his haversack; he had acquired a good number of them for hanging certain things on so he would not need to go into the haversack proper to retrieve items he anticipated he might often need.

"Do you know what house you'll be in?" Hermione asked.

"Do we get a choice?" asked Harry.

"I don't think so."

"Then what does it matter?"

"Well, I used to think Gryffindor sounded best—Dumbledore was in it, after all—but now I've had a chance to think about it more, Ravenclaw may actually fit my life goals better."

"You're very hard-working, though," said Harry. "Are you sure you're not a Hufflepuff?"

"I think I value learning more."

"Who am I to argue with you?"

**~ooOoo~**

There was a knock on the compartment door, and Harry waved in the chubby boy who looked as if he was on the verge of tears.

"Sorry, have you seen a toad at all?" asked the newcomer.

"Come again?" drawled Harry, leaning back in his seat.

"I lost mine," the boy explained. "I don't know why he keeps disappearing!"

"Mebbe he ain't lahk wahteva you've bin keepin' him in?"

At that, the chubby boy sniffled, a fat tear rolling down one of his cheeks.

"We could help you look for him," Hermione helpfully volunteered.

"List'n 'ere bahdy," said Harry, realizing things were about to escalate into a situation he didn't want to be apart of, having no interesting hunting for an amphibian in a packed train. "'Ave ya e'r read _Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency_?"

"I'm sorry?" asked the boy, confused.

"It's a novel 'bout a detective who solves cases by lettin' Fate do 'er thang," Harry clarified.

"I don't understand."

"If he was meant to be yers, he'll come back to ya," explained Harry. "Elsewise, he was never yers a'tall, and tha's why he keeps runnin' away."

The newcomer left the compartment contemplating answer with a puzzled look on his face.

"We could have helped him!" she remarked, clearly displeased at how her companion in the compartment had handled the situation.

"The toad keeps escaping," Harry answered calmly. "Even if we were to help him and find him, chances are, he'll just escape again, and then he'll come back asking for more help. Do you want to have to spend your time helping him find his toad whenever he escapes?"

"Still!"

"That bloke looks really high-strung," said Harry. "I just told him, '_Que será, será_' and took some stress out of his life."

Hermione started to say something, but the compartment doors slid open, and a pale boy with slicked-back peroxide blonde hair barged in, flanked by two large boys who looked like they had made to smell white vinegar straight from the jug.

"They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's going to Hogwarts this year. Is he here?"

"Naw, chummer," drawled Harry lazily. "_Ah_ am Hunter Whiplash, of the Louisiana Whiplashes, an' this be mah local liaison, Miz Wells."

The towheaded boy looked taken aback at the unexpected meeting. "Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," he said tensely with a slight bow before indicating his associates. "Crabbe and Goyle."

Studying Hermione for a moment, Draco Malfoy wrinkled his nose is distaste. "You'll soon find some wizarding families are much better than others, Whiplash. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

Harry gave the boy with the slicked-back hair a scrutinizing look. "Ah'm sorry, are ya hearin' ya'self?" he asked.

"Pardon me?"

"Ya speech, it's sumthin' straight outtava movie," laughed Harry, barely able to retain control of his drawl. "Miz Wells, does he nawt sound lahk a vill'in ya maight see ina movie."

"He really does, sir," agreed Hermione, happy to play the part Harry had improvised for her.

Draco stood confused for a moment, not understanding what was happening. Then, his face flushed in anger, and he snarled, "When father hears about this!" while storming off, his muscle on his heels.

"That went rather well, I'd like to think," said Harry as he slid the compartment closed.

"It's going to come back and haunt you," Hermione warned. "I read about the Malfoys; they are very wealthy and very well-connected."

Harry shrugged. It wasn't something he was particularly interested in arguing over, and besides, it was starting to grow dark outside.

"We should get changed," he said as he doffed his hat and lowered his hood, retrieving a robe he had hung from one of the hooks and pulling it on over his streetwear before putting the hat back on.

"Would you mind terribly waiting outside while I changed?" asked Hermione.

"It's not like I haven't seen more and better," Harry said.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't tell me you've never seen an 'eighteen' rated film."

"I have never!"

"In that case, I'll wait outside."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Another transitional chapter, but now Harry's on his way to Hogwarts, so it's another little bit of calm before another little bit of storm.

A lot of Harry's musical tastes are going to be influenced by my own, and frankly, I love The Incredible Bongo Band; _Bongo Rock_ is an all-time great album, and Apache" and "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" are especially classic breakbeats. The rest of Harry's not insubstantial musical collection consists of other music from the 70s and 80s, with also a few releases from 1990 and the first half of 1991.

Once again, thanks to Shinshikaizer for the original treatment, and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Thanks also to those who have been leaving reviews.


	12. The Whole Sorting Affair

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 12: The Whole Sorting Affair**

* * *

After detraining, Harry found himself subjected first to a dangerous wilderness hike in the dark and then a ride in a decrepit dinghy. While the castle that was Hogwarts was certainly a wondrous sight rivaling the castle in the Disney logo, Harry was much more preoccupied with being a bit cold even in his jumper.

Disembarking the boat in an underground harbour of sorts, Harry saw the trog harassing the students, repeatedly shouting, "Oy, you there! Is this your toad?"

As it turned out, it was the toad of the previously toadless student who had been searching the train for his toad but then decided to cease his searching for the toad after talking with Harry. Apparently, Trevor was meant to be his toad after all.

There was another passageway after that, and then a long flight of steps, before the students stopped and the trog banged on a huge door with a meaty fist.

The door swung open promptly on the third knock, and the trog exchanged words with a tall woman with a severe face. From what Harry could catch at a distance, which was where he was relative to the conversation, she was Professor McGonagall.

The professor pushed the doors wide, and the boy saw inside the entrance hall behind them for the first time. It was sizeable, to say the least, larger than many of the houses in Little Whinging, but like every other magical building he had been in, was lit by fire and not electric lights, giving the large chamber the dull coloring of a poorly lit student film.

Professor McGonagall led the pack of students through the hall, and Harry could see the myriad faces making up the student body of the school, most talking loudly amongst themselves, a few watching the new student as they were led to their fate, which he soon discovered was an antechamber just off the hall.

The professor monologued for a bit, and Harry tuned her out; in his mind, he was wondering, among other things, how quickly his eyes would tire reading in such a badly lit environment and began trying to figure out some sort of superior lighting situation.

He came out of his reverie as the professor departed, or rather, he was drawn out of it by the bushy-haired girl besides him, who was whispering nervously to herself nonstop, seemingly with no beginning or end, a simple stream-of-consciousness verbal diarrhea that made very little sense coming from one of the most intelligent people his own age Harry had ever met.

"Wells, Wells," drawled the boy, grasping Hermione by the shoulder and shaking her gently. "Relax. Breathe. You's 'ready done all ya coulda fo' this."

The girl swallowed hard, then exhaled slowly before drawing a deep breath. "Thanks," she managed with a small, uncertain smile.

Suddenly, there was screaming, and Harry instinctively went for his switchblade, even though he had only had the knife for less than a day. Through the walls came a gaggle of ghostly figures, pearlescent and translucent, arguing loudly amongst themselves. Only after a moment did they notice the children in the room with them, but before they could say much to the new students, the professor had returned and ordered them to move along.

Harry then found himself queuing with his fellow students before being marched back into the hall via the scenic route.

As the boy scanned the room, making mental notes as he took in the sights, the stern professor placed a four-legged stool before the new students. Atop the stool was a pointed hat, dirty and clearly old from the number of patches sewn onto it.

Then the hat started singing from a tear near its brim, and Harry wondered if he had somehow been secretly dosed with the psychedelics that Martin liked to experiment with and then tell stories about, especially of his magic mushroom trips. Harry made a note to mental check if 'magic mushrooms' were magical after all.

The hat finished its song to a rousing round of applause, and McGonagall began calling out names of a roll of parchment. Harry barely paid attention as the queue began to shorten, though he did pay attention enough when Hermione was called to notice she had been sent to the house of Ravenclaw.

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry stepped forward, shedding his ball cap and fitover sunshades in one smooth motion and dropping them into his ever-present haversack. Meanwhile, the hall filled with whispers.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

Taking a seat on the stool, the boy let the professor drop the hat onto his head, the rim falling well past his eyes.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Whatever the hat was doing, it was taking a while, but if nothing else, Harry could be patient. Living with his relatives had taught that, if nothing else, and it was a lesson he had learned well.

And so he waited.

And waited.

By now, the chattering in the hall had reached a low rumble, clearly expectant, and Harry finally tried a different tactic. Lifting the hat ever-so-slightly so he could see, he turned towards the professor and asked, "I'm sorry, is something supposed to be happening? I feel like I'm just sitting here like a wanker, wasting everyone's time."

Then, the entire hall was in an uproar, though it was only for a moment, as a simple steely look from Professor McGonagall was enough to silence the crowd.

"Mister Potter, what exactly do you mean?"

"Literally nothing is happening," said the boy. "I'm sitting here, waiting for something, _anything_ to happen. Am I meant to be doing something?"

The professor quickly took the hat from Harry's hat, and immediately, it came alive. "I cannot sort this child," said the hat. "When I was on his head, I was being drawn into an empty void, almost as though he was not there at all."

The boy had thought the hall had been loud before, but it did not compare to the shouting and screaming that followed.

"Mister Potter, are you using occlumency?" asked the professor pointedly, ignoring the students.

"I don't know what that is, ma'am," said Harry, technically telling the truth even though he had an inkling what she meant. If state of mind could be used to fool a lie detector, maybe it could also be used to deceive an elderly witch.

"Mister Potter, it appears you will need to be sorted after the feast," said the professor as smoothly as she could. "For now, take a seat at the Gryffindor table."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather sit with my friend at the Ravenclaw table," said the boy, nodding slightly towards Hermione.

"Mister Potter…"

"You're not going to take away my only friend, are you?" asked Harry, voice quivering and forlorn as he scrunched his face and made his breathing ragged and uneven, whimpering slightly. It was a trick Karen had taught him, and with the technique, he forced tears to well in his eyes as he shrunk in on himself to appear as pathetic as he could, shivering ever-so-slightly as he looked up at the professor with wide eyes, a picture-perfect tear rolling down one cheek.

"Very well, Mister Potter, you may go sit with your friend," relented the professor, and Harry nodded faintly, hiding the skip in his step as he made his way to the Ravenclaw table and plopped himself down on the seat next to the bushy-haired girl, wiping the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his robes.

"What was that?" asked Hermione, as the sorting continued.

"A technique," said Harry. "Actors use it to cry on cue."

The two friends continued to make small talk until the sorting was complete, at which point Hermione forced him to pay attention to the beardy man in extravagantly gaudy robes at the center of the table, who stood and spoke.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

As the students around him applauded, Harry turned to Hermione. "Who's that bakebrain?"

"That's Albus Dumbledore," said Hermione, clapping.

It was then that the bowls and plates lining the center of the long table were suddenly piled high with food, and instinctively, Harry's suspicious mind kicked into overdrive.

"Where did that come from?" he asked.

"House elves," answered a voice at the table, as the students filled their plates with food.

For Harry, it was an answer that told him nothing that he needed to know, and so while others ate and enjoyed their meal, he left his plate empty and instead looked around, observing the people around him in their seemingly natural habitat even as his stomach growl.

"Aren't you going to eat?" asked Hermione.

"Hermione, they have mind control magic," said Harry softly to avoid being overheard. "I rather not take my chances."

"You're being paranoid."

"Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get me."

"You'll have to eat sometime," Hermione reasoned.

"I've got cases of instant noodles, canned food and frozen fruits in my bag," Harry admitted. "Enough to last me until I can figure something else out."

Hermione only wrinkled her nose as she bit into a piece of meat pie.

**~ooOoo~**

Harry found himself in the boundless hall, alone with Albus Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, a man with long greasy hair and a sallow complexion, a squat professor with a huge beard, and a portly witch with a round face and unruly grey hair. The other students had exited the hall not too long ago following a warning about a forbidden forest, a deadly third floor, a ban on magic in the halls, trials for something called quidditch and a rendition of the school song sang with no consideration for harmony, pitch, volume, or for that matter, decency.

He was being sorted into a house through an interview, and he knew he would need to show them what they wanted to see, even if it was all an act to get him to where he needed to go.

"You are very brave to come to a completely different world," said Albus Dumbledore, eyes twinkling mightily as he looked upon the boy.

Harry shrugged, faking awe and distraction as he looked around the hall aimlessly.

"I know you must have lived a difficult life," continued the headmaster of Hogwarts. "You must be so brave, to have endured such hardships."

"I wouldn't call it brave," Harry said, playing small and weak, letting a tremble slip into his voice. "Dudley would beat me every day, and all I could do is curl up in a ball and take it. He was so much bigger and stronger than me, you see, and if I tried to stop him, he'd tell Auntie Petunia and Uncle Vernon, and they'd lock me in my cupboard without food for days. I was so scared."

From behind his feigned sorrow, Harry examined the looks of horror and shock on the faces of the adults around him. Apparently, McGonagall and the other professors had not known of the treatment he had been receiving at 4 Privet Drive, even if he was exaggerating for effect, but the grim determination in Dumbledore's eyes behind his cheery expression said more than his words.

"You must have wished to be brave, then," reasoned Dumbledore in as grandfatherly a manner as he possibly could, even though Harry could detect no honesty behind the performance.

"I only wished it would stop," Harry sniffled. "Or I was dead."

Harry could see the new revelation went over like a tonne of bricks.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "What about hobbies? What do you do for fun?" Dumbledore asked, with the intent of steering the conversation to a lighter topic.

"I never had time for fun," Harry lied outright, looking down pitifully at his shoes as he did so. "Auntie made me cook and clean and garden and take out the bins whenever I had free time."

"What about your studies?" asked the squat man, adjusting his spectacles.

"I was forced to do poorly," Harry admitted in a small voice. "If I did better than Dudley, Auntie and Uncle would say I cheated and lock me in my cupboard without dinner. And lunch. And dinner. And sometimes lunch and dinner."

As he finished his testimony, he surreptitiously scrutinized the faces of the adults before him between looking at the floor. He had presented himself as a friendless, pitiable coward with no discernable character traits beyond having been made to suffer great hardships in his life, eliminating both Gryffindor and Slytherin as possible destinations. There was a real chance he had set himself up for Hufflepuff, even though he would prefer Ravenclaw with Hermione, but even there, Harry could make things work, as long as he wasn't forced to be part of the ongoing feud between the rival houses.

"It's very brave of you to tell us this," said Dumbledore, desperately grasping at straws.

"I was only answering questions," Harry said, quivering slightly. "Am I in trouble?"

"Of course not," said the thickset woman motheringly, not a hint of deception in her manner. "What would you like to do, now that you're at Hogwarts?"

"I think I'd want to work hard to learn as much as I can," said the boy, frowning as in self-doubt. "I'm not very smart, so I don't know if my grades will be good, but I'd like a chance to just do my best without having to worry about having nothing to eat if I get good grades.

"And, if they'll have somebody like me, I'd like to maybe make a few more friends. I've never had any before I met Hermione in Diagon Alley."

"It's very courageous of you to have dreams despite everything you've been through," Dumbledore tried again. "Godric would be…"

"The boy's obviously a Hufflepuff," said the man with the long, greasy hair.

"But…"

"Shall we put this to a vote, then?" asked the stout woman. "All for Hufflepuff?"

Three hands went up, and it were the hands of the professors whose names Harry did not know.

Tucked away inside the sleeves, Harry clenched a fist in victory, though he did not let his feelings reach his face, which he kept hopeful. He could see Albus Dumbledore's face fall in disappointment at his house placement, which only confirm in his own mind the headmaster's place in the conspiracy against him, either as at the head, or at least as a willing participant.

Willingly, Harry allowed himself to be led away from the hall by the woman who was his head of house and had introduced herself as Professor Sprout. Even if it had not been his first choice, Hufflepuff was still a fine place to lay low and get his bearings, and it suited his hard-working temperament just fine.

He decided if Whiplash Hunter ever died, he would make his next runner a child who played up the broken-down street waif angle. If nothing else, it would be good practice, and an absolutely perfect way to disarm impressionable adults.

**~ooOoo~**

Harry Potter had not been what Albus Dumbledore had expected, particularly after hearing Hagrid's report from Diagon Alley. He had thought The-Boy-Who-Lived would be assertive and forceful, but instead, he seemed fragile and vulnerable, like he would break into millions of tiny pieces if a stiff wind had blown through the hall at an inopportune moment.

He was in his office, getting an earful from Minerva McGonagall even now for leaving Harry with the Dursleys, "the worst kind of muggles" as she called them. Dumbledore had not expected the boy to say so much about his treatment at the hands of his relatives and had never intended to give away that information himself, but now it was in the open, and he could not have stopped the boy from revealing those truths without appearing suspicious himself.

If it had been someone else, he would have thought it masterfully played.

Suddenly, Dumbledore was seized by a terrifying idea: what if Harry was headed down the dark path himself?

If Hagrid was to believed, all the signs were already there: Harry was capable of great anger, and despite his best efforts, Dumbledore had been unable to see into the boy's mind; in fact, when he had tried to look, it was as though there was nothing there, like he was completely devoid of any sentience, let alone intelligence or thought.

He already had every reason to hate muggles for the treatment he had received at their hands, and he might well have just played a move that would undercut Dumbledore's ability to control him through his living arrangements.

Behind his beard, Dumbledore smiled to himself. While it had been a masterful gambit, Harry was but a mere boy, and Dumbledore had been playing this game for many decades. If this was how The-Boy-Who-Lived wanted to go about it, then two could play the game.

As Minerva stormed out of his office, Dumbledore took up a quill and began composing a letter on parchment to Molly Weasley, one of his most ardent supporters. What he needed now was a pawn in the game that Harry knew nothing about, and young Ron would be a perfect instrument to guide Harry Potter back to the right and proper path, even if he had to drag him back kicking and screaming.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Regarding Harry's Sorting, he really could have ended up in any house; he has the intelligence and drive to learn that would fit him in Ravenclaw, the fearlessness (not courage) that could put him in Gryffindor, the cunning and manipulativeness that would find him a place in Slytherin, and the diligence and loyalty that would make him a Hufflepuff. However, he also has traits that makes him unsuited for every house: learning is a means to an end for him, he is not particularly reckless, he does not believe the pureblood dogma that is commonly attributed to the snakes, and he's very unfriendly. Ultimately, he's a badger because it's his spirit animal: fearless, vicious, cunning, and protective of his own.

There is already fallout from Harry's actions, particularly his getting of his tattoo, which leads to further misunderstandings. In fact, an argument can be made that a lot of this story is people misunderstanding Harry and attributing motives to his behavior that would better explain their own motivations than his.

As always, feel free to leave reviews. Or don't. I can't make you do anything. Or can I?

Once again, my thanks to Shinshikaizer for the initial story treatment, and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Credit to bluminous8 of _The Thief of Hogwarts _for the concept of the sorting interview.


	13. First Day

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 13: First Day**

* * *

Harry had received an exceedingly warm welcome from the Hufflepuffs, the likes of which he had never experienced before, when he had been introduced as one of them. Apparently, his reputation had preceded him to the house of the badger, made obvious by the many awkward hugs and enthusiastic handshakes he received along with the dozens of inquisitive questions about his victory over You-Know-Who for which he only had the customary answer of being unable to remember due to his tender age at the time.

After the meet-and-greet where he had met more people than he could put names and faces to, Harry was finally been allowed retire to his room, which he shared with one Roger Malone, a stocky boy a not much taller than Harry. Having skipped the evening meal, Harry's stomach was twisted into tight knots, so he took the opportunity to set down his haversack by the bed he and his roommate had agreed was his and drop into the largest pocket, returning a few minutes later via the magic lift in his haversack with two cups of instant noodles, a fork and two pairs of disposable chopsticks to find his roommate unpacking.

"Hungry?" Harry asked, holding up the two cups.

"I could eat," Roger remarked, taking one cup and a fork. "Where did you get this?"

"Brought it with me," said Harry. "Didn't know what food they'd be serving, so I brought my own, in case anything happened."

His roommate nodded, running his fingers through his dirty blonde hair and pulling it backwards, remarking, "That's smart."

A silence hung between the two boys, interrupted by only the slurping of noodles.

Finally, Harry spoke up. "We're going to be roommates for a while, so we might well get to know each other.

"The reason I'm famous is He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, the big bad evil guy, the magic bogeyman, You-Know-Who came to my house, killed my parents, then tried to murder me with a magic death spell but failed and disappeared. That made people think I defeated him. When I was eighteen months old."

"That's just silly," said Roger. "Also, I don't know who."

"Me neither," said Harry. "And what's worse, nobody will tell me."

"Well, that can't be helpful," said Roger, finishing the last of his noodles and setting the cup down on his desk.

"It really isn't," Harry agreed, chuckling, and his roommate joined in.

"You mind if I unpack while we talk?" Roger asked.

"Go for it," said Harry. "What do your parents do?"

"Well, my mum is a production designer for the BBC," said Roger. "My father is a gaffer at Working Title Films."

"I've never heard of them."

"They haven't made many films."

"Well, that explains it," said The-Boy-Who-Lived. "So, you're from a normal family, then."

"Normal?"

"As opposed to magical," Harry explained. "I hate term 'muggle'; when magicals use it, it's always in a way that's insulting."

"But why normal?" Roger asked.

"If you read Ministry documents, you'll find they estimate there are only fifty thousand magicals in all of the United Kingdom."

"But there are millions of people living in just London," finished Roger, quickly realizing where his roommate was going. "Compared to the bulk of humanity, having magic is not normal."

"Well, yeah, but we shouldn't be like them in the language we use, either. With 'magical' instead of 'abnormal', nobody's feelings get hurt."

"How did you end up in Hufflepuff anyways?" Roger asked. "Almost everybody was expecting you'd be a Gryffindor."

"I'm not the bravest, I'm not the smartest, and I have no ambitions," Harry confessed, letting his voice drop a bit so it seemed like he was letting his roommate in on a secret. "The only thing I have going for me is that I'll put in more work than anybody else."

"You'll fit right in, then," Roger said, closing up his trunk and sitting down on his bed. "Who was your friend at Ravenclaw?"

"Hermione Granger," said Harry. "She's really smart. A lot smarter than me."

There was an uncomfortable pause as neither boy seemed to know what to say. Then:

"Do you need to use the bathroom?" asked Roger. "I want a shower before I sleep tonight."

"You do that," Harry said, cracking his neck and then his knuckles. "I need to do a few things before I shower and sleep."

As his roommate disappeared into the shower with a towel and a fresh change of clothes, Harry fell forward, catching himself on his hands before laying down flat, quickly switching his watch to its timer function. Setting the timer to 30 seconds, he started on his new, timer-assisted evening exercise regimen, beginning with press ups.

**~ooOoo~**

Harry awoke gently, but nearly panicked at the darkness and the stale air around him. Fumbling around in the dark, he reached under his haversack, which he was using as a pillow, and found his wristwatch, using the backlight to determine the time, which was just before five o'clock.

Standing his haversack up on the floor, he rolled out of bed and into the bag, catching himself on the gidgee rod hanging from the side of the main pocket and dropping lightly onto the magical goods lift he had created, riding it down to the floor of the interior.

It only took him a few minutes to get dressed, then a few more to have a breakfast of fruits he left out overnight to thaw, oatmeal and beef jerky and clean the implements he had used for the morning's meals before exiting his haversack.

Roger was still asleep when Harry left the room and made his way up to the ground floor; it was still dark outside, but Harry found a flat patch of dirt and grass and laid a long vinyl mat down in preparation of his morning exercise.

His morning exercise routine was much more thorough than his evening one; while he could complete his entire evening regimen in ten minutes, his morning routine contained thirty minutes of calisthenics—squats, pull ups, star jumps, mountain climbers, press ups, planks, burpees, muscle ups and reverse crunches—in thirty second intervals, then a ten minute run followed by another five minutes of calisthenics to warm down.

He walked back to the Hufflepuff dormitories in the basement to quickly take a cold shower, the rising morning sun gently warming his back as he entered the building. Toweling his hair dry as he exited the bathroom, Harry heard his roommate stir in his sleep and quietly went into his bag, retrieving a maths textbook, a corresponding workbook, a battery-powered table lamp, pencils and a notebook, before sitting himself down at his desk, lighting the lamp and beginning to study the material in the textbook by himself.

Harry was about halfway through the workbook assignment for the chapter he had just read when Roger sat up with a yawn and a stretch. "What time is it?"

Harry checked his wristwatch. "A little past eight."

"What're you doing?"

"Homework."

"We haven't had lessons yet."

"It's maths."

"Why? It's not taught here."

"Precisely the reason."

"I'm going to brush my teeth, then have breakfast."

"You do that, chummer."

"What?"

"Chummer, chum, friend."

"Oh."

A momentary pause followed.

"You are coming to breakfast, right?"

"Already ate, and I still need to finish these workbooks."

**~ooOoo~**

"I've got something for you, Harry," said Roger, as he returned from breakfast. He was carrying two packages, one small and one large, and he dropped them unceremoniously onto Harry's neatly-made bed. "No classes today for first year students; we're meant to spend the day learning the layout of the castle."

"We at least get class schedules?" asked Harry, looking up from the workbook in front of him, the second such workbook of the morning that accompanied a similar maths textbook.

"Here," said Roger, dropping a sheaf of parchment onto Harry's desk. "Still doing maths?"

"Yeah," said The-Boy-Who-Lived as he scanned the parchment in front of him. "Is it just me, or is this schedule mad?"

"What do you mean?"

"We have lessons for about sixteens hours a week, less than half the hours at St. Grogory's. Even if there are three fewer subjects, that still doesn't account for discrepancy in the hours for lessons of first year students."

"I hadn't thought about that," Roger admitted. "What'd you get?"

Harry sighed as he rose from his chair, digging his switchblade out of his pocket and flicking it open, causing his roommate to scramble back in surprise. Quickly, he cut the twine binding the packages before folding the knife closed and pocketing it, then ripped the brown paper wrapped around the smaller package, revealing a black box. When he opened it, he was greeted by the sight of a wax-sealed envelope addressed to him, and opened the envelope to find a letter from Garrick Ollivander, writing of the wand made for him.

_Pine and phoenix feather, eight and three quarter inches, very flexible._

Harry gave the wand a wave, like he had been told to do at the wandmaker's shop, and once again felt nothing. With a shrug, he pocketed it, then tore open second package to reveal a cardboard shipping container, which he opened to reveal a dozen smaller boxes.

"What are those?"

Harry opened one of the smaller boxes to reveal twelve decks of playing cards, one of which he immediately pulled free and unsealed. "Nice," he said. "Jason sent me twelve bricks."

Roger watched as Harry fanned out the cards before him as if to show them off, pulling the jokers and tossing them onto his desk before quickly shuffling and cutting the cards together a few times with practiced ease. Then, The-Boy-Who-Lived fanned out the cards again, revealing them to still be in the same order as before.

"How did you do that?" Roger asked, amazed.

"Didn't you hear? I'm magical," Harry joked, shuffling and cutting the cards repeatedly as he surveyed the discarded packaging on his bed. Squaring the cards and setting them down on his desk, he extracted the remaining cases of playing cards from the large box while pocketing two more packs and stacked them on a corner of his desk before he piled the shredded paper into the box and put it on the floor next to his desk.

Closing the books on his desk, Harry dropped them into his haversack, then took his hooded jumper from where it hung from the side of his bed and pulled it on before pulling on a ball cap. He hefted his haversack onto his shoulder before picking up the deck of cards again, absentmindedly shuffling and cutting them.

"I best get going, or I'll never learn the layout of the castle," said Harry.

"Do you want some company?" Roger asked.

"I think I'd rather do this at my own pace," Harry said, and Roger nodded his understanding. "I'll be seeing you."

**~ooOoo~**

As he had expected, Harry found Hermione in the school library, in awe at the extensive collection on tomes on just about every magical subject imaginable. So enthralled was she by the archive as she wandered through the stacks that she didn't even notice Harry until he was only a few feet away behind her, and even then, only after he had cleared his throat.

The bushy-haired brunette squeaked in surprise, spinning around. "Harry! Didn't see you there!" she whispered.

"Well, yeah, I was behind you," Harry whispered back.

"Where were you? I didn't see you this morning."

"I'm apparently a Hufflepuff."

"Oh… Have you seen the collection in this library?"

"I've had a look. Doesn't seem to be organized in a way following rhyme or reason."

"Still, it's an amazing library."

"I don't see a card catalog or anything similar, though. Might make finding anything specific extremely and unnecessarily difficult."

"Still, so many books."

"I think, if I really need books on a specific subject, I'll probably be better off ordering them from Flourish & Blotts or another vendor than wasting time searching for them here."

"Not everyone can buy books whenever they want!"

"What I don't understand is why it isn't properly organized," Harry whispered. "I was able to organize my entire collection from Flourish & Blotts, which was about a hundred books, in a single afternoon, so if they had started organizing the books when they had gotten them, they… You know what, I'm going to go ask. You want to come?"

Hermione followed Harry back to the front of the library, where he stopped at the desk with an engraved name plate reading "Madam Irma Pince, Librarian". Pausing for a moment when he saw the "No Talking. No Whispering. No Laughing." sign on the wall behind the desk, he went into his haversack to retrieve a notebook and a pen, quickly writing something into it before turning the notepad around and placing it on the desk before the very thin woman seated there.

Madam Pince read what was written on the paper before her, then quickly took a quill from an inkwell and wrote a long answer in a flowing script before turning the notebook back around. Reading it quickly, Harry's brow furrowed and he scrawled a couple of words onto the page, turning it around to face the librarian and only withdrawing it after receiving a nod.

Nudging Hermione with an elbow, Harry turned his thumb towards the door, indicating he wanted to go outside, and Hermione nodded reluctantly, obviously wanting to spend more time with the books. Once outside, she gave Harry an expectant look. "Well?"

"The library is organized," said the boy, showing Hermione the answer Madam Pince had wrote. "It's organized with the most used books in the front, and the least used books in the back."

"That doesn't seem like a good system," said Hermione. "It might be easier to find books that people use often, but there's no easy to way find anything about a subject because they're not grouped together in that way."

"You're right," Harry agreed. "Do you want to tour the rest of Hogwarts with me? This is the first place I came, because I figured I'd find you here, but we're supposed to spend the day getting to know the layout of the castle."

Hermione's nose crinkled at the idea; she obviously wanted to spend more time in the library, exploring and reading. Nonetheless, she could not deny Harry's logic, as she herself had come to the library first thing after breakfast.

"We can make this quick so you can get back to the library," said Harry amiably, reading her obvious desire, and Hermione nodded in consent.

And so, they were off.

**~ooOoo~**

Exploring Hogwarts ended up taking far longer than either Harry or Hermione had anticipated. Between the ever-moving staircases, the winding labyrinth that was the dungeons and the expansive grounds, it took the pair just over four hours to complete a circuit of the campus barring the restricted areas, mainly the Forbidden Forest and third-floor corridor on the right-hand side, and even then, most of what they had done was locate the classrooms where they would be studying during the year. Nonetheless, both had noticed the castle had numerous abandoned classrooms in various states of disrepair, and Harry had wondered why such a large castle would be both badly maintained and in such disuse.

After saying their goodbyes, Harry watched as Hermione made her way towards the Great Hall; she had invited him to join her for lunch, but he had other plans.

Now, he just needed to find an out-of-the-way abandoned classroom to have a quick meal before he started experimenting with his own magic. There were so many spells he wanted to master, and he was going to try all of them, starting with _alter self_; sure, he could already grow wings, but the way the spell had been described, Harry was sure it would be capable of so much more, if only he could find the correct visualizations.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Another transitional chapter. While I am avoiding the use of original characters as Hogwarts students, I do have an array of students with no characterization who were documented in _Harry Potter and Me_ and _Pottermore_ at my disposal, so I intend to take advantage of that list of names to produce pseudo-original characters who were originally documented to be in the series, though those characters will be primarily in supporting or cameo roles.

As a former library staff member, I've always hated Rowling's characterization of Madam Pince as a bitch; if the students would have followed any semblance of proper conduct befitting of being in a library, she would have a much easier time with her job, which is to be a librarian in a library, not a babysitter in a social club.

Class schedules in this version of Hogwarts are very different than those in the books and movie, in that I have concrete class schedules for all the first year students, and I intend to stick to these schedules going forward instead of trying to hand-wave everything. As it stands, though, each first year student has exactly two-and-a-quarter hours of each subject each week , which, honestly, is a very small amount given how much time they should be in school. The only exception to the schedule is Flying lessons, which are only a 90 minute block, once per week.

The usual with reviews. Write one. Don't write one. Can't make you do anything.

Thanks to Shinshikaizer for the original story treatment, and goalie12345 for copy-editing.


	14. Potions & Post

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 14: Potions & Post**

* * *

"You're Harry Potter!"

Harry looked up from the book in his hands, a leather-bound volume entitled _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, to see a red-headed boy with a simple look on his face. It was the first lesson on his schedule, double Herbology, apparently with the Gryffindors, and this was an indication of his future, it was going to be a tedious one. He had specifically chosen a spot in the back of the greenhouse to be away from the attention, little good that did him.

"You're a ginger," said Harry, closing the book in his hands.

"Wot?" asked the redhead dumbly.

"I'm sorry, I thought we were playing 'State the Obvious'," said Harry, dropping the book into the haversack slung across his shoulder. "What do you want?"

"Can I see your scar?" asked the ginger, completely oblivious to how rude his request was.

"Not unless you want me to give you one of your own," the noirette said, smoothly drawing and flipping open his switchblade. "Who are you?"

"I'm Ron Weasley," said the redhead, introducing himself with a nervous swallow. "That's a switchblade! You can't have that!"

"Well, 'Ron Weasley', what're _you_ gonna do about it?" Harry asked lowly, letting his voice drop into the range of barely-veiled danger. "Snitches get stitches and wind up in ditches."

"Wot?" asked Ron dumbly once again.

"What do you _think_ I mean?"

"It's just so cool," said Ron, oblivious to the threat, staring longingly at the knife. "Can I hold it?"

"No," said Harry, starting to understand just what kind of person he was dealing with. "You'd probably just slit your own wrists by accident."

"You're The-Boy-Who-Lived," protested the redhead, reaching for the knife, as if that was an adequate enough explanation. "You're supposed to share! Why won't you let me hold it?"

At this point, Harry had already realized the dangerous situation he was in and had used one hand to fold close the blade, using the side of the table next to him in place of his other hand, which was busy holding off Ron Weasley with a palm to the redhead's face even as he flailed his hands wildly trying to reach the knife.

The redhead looked lost for a moment after Harry pocketed his knife, then asked, rather lightly, "What's your Quidditch team? Mine's the Chudley Cannons."

"The fuck's 'Quidditch'?"

"Ooh, you said a bad word," said the redhead, eyes going wide for a moment in awe.

Then, "Quidditch is the best game in the world!" the redhead ejaculated gaily; already, he was spewing out information about the game, speaking a mile a minute as he went from the rule to the positions to the four balls to the broomstick he would buy if he just had the money.

"Take a fucking breath," said Harry, just as the obvious Quidditch fan finished the information dump in record time. "You need some Ritalin?"

"What's Ritalin?"

"You know what, forget I asked," said Harry, knowing full well it would be more effort than it was worth to explain anything to the ginger. "Hey, I think somebody over there is calling you."

The redhead turned towards the direction Harry had nodded his chin, his eyes unfocused for a moment as he seemed to search the other students with his eyes. Then, his face broke into a wide grin as he bounded away from where Harry sat, only to return a moment later dragging a chubby brown-haired boy, one who Harry felt like he could vaguely recall.

"Nevile, this is my friend Harry Potter," blurted the ginger, seemingly pleased with himself. "Harry, this is my friend Neville Longbottom."

"We've met," said the brunette. "You gave me advice about Trevor."

"Show Neville your scar," said Ron, once again back on the subject of the scar.

"What?" said chubby brunette, appalled.

Harry decided to use the opportunity to get rid of the ginger. Checking his watch, he said, "Listen, if you can run a lap around the entire castle before Herbology starts, I'll show you my scar."

The brown-haired boy started to protest, but the ginger was already off like a shot, but with only three minutes before the lesson was scheduled to begin, there was no way he was going to complete the task on time unless he could run an six minute mile, something no eleven-year-old could sensibly be expected to do. Still, he had gotten rid of the mouthy redhead.

"That was mean," said the boy, looking out the door the ginger had sprinted through. "There's no way he would be able to do that."

Harry shrugged. "At least it got rid of him," he said.

"Thanks again for the help with Trevor," said the boy. "Since then, I haven't worry as much when he disappears." He then fidgeted nervously, like he had something to ask.

The noirette sighed. "You have question? Just ask ready."

The brown-haired boy swallowed hard, taking a deep breath, and Harry realized it must have been what he had looked like to Karen when he had confessed to her on the floor at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. He made a mental note to never do act like that again.

"Do you have any other advice you can give me?" the brunette asked, his voice small.

"Listen, chummer," said Harry, putting on as kind of a smile as he could manage, all while just hoping the boy would go away as soon as he got the answer he needed. "There are a lot of things in this life that are out of your control; it's best not to worry about them, because even if you do, there's nothing you can do about it besides make yourself worry, and worrying about it will do nothing besides making you feel sick. And feeling sick does not feel good, right?"

The brunette nodded.

"So, instead of worrying, go do something you enjoy doing," said Harry sagely. "Read a book. Play Quidditch. Eat cake. Crack one off. Fly a broom."

"What?" asked the chubby boy, blinking in shock at the second-to-last suggestion.

"What?" Harry asked back innocently.

"You said..."

"You should relax, stop worrying about things you can't control and enjoy the things that you like doing instead," the noirette interrupted with a grin, clapping the chubby boy on the shoulder.

Thoughtfully, the brunette mulled over what the noirette said, but quickly hurried back to join his housemates as the rotund Herbology professor waddled into the classroom. After introducing herself, she began taking attendance, only to be interrupted half-way through by a red-haired boy slamming the greenhouse door open, thoroughly out of breath.

"Mister Weasley, you're late," said the professor. "A point from Gryffindor."

**~ooOoo~**

By the end of double Herbology with the first-year Gryffindors, Harry had knew the ginger would be a problem going forward; during the lecture, he could see the boy fidgeting and looking about from the back of the room, and a few times he caught the ginger staring at him, only to quickly look way when he realized he had been caught. If he didn't know better, Harry would have thought himself the ginger's secret crush.

Quickly packing his belongings as class ended, Harry found the redhead once again at his desk.

"Can I see your scar now?" asked the ginger brightly.

"You didn't finish before the lesson began," Harry said as he hurried out of the greenhouse. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get to Potions."

"Snape is the worst," said the ginger, nodding sagely to himself as he walked matched the noirette's stride. A few steps behind them, the chubby brunette boy followed, his face an expression of worry.

"Wouldn't know," said Harry noncommittally, pushing hurriedly into a crowd of students in a bid to lose the persistent redhead; three steps into the crowd, he ducked his head and sped up his stride, taking four quick steps before cutting quickly the left and doing an about-face to let the himself be pushed along in the opposite direction by the crowd, hiding in the sea of bodies as the two Gryffindors continued on in the same direction without him. It was one of his favorite tricks to lose a tail in _Shadowrun_, and he was glad it worked just as well in real life.

The passing period was fifteen minutes long, more than three times the time necessarily to go from the greenhouse to the Potions classroom in the dungeons, and he arrived with nearly ten minutes to spare. To no great surprise, Hermione was already in the classroom and had taken a seat at the front; as he walked past, Harry gave her a slight nod, and her expression became confused as her eyes followed him to the back of room, taking seat at the very center of the desk there before unpacking a book, a pen, a pencil and a copy _Magical Drafts and Potions_ onto the desk besides the equipment already set up there

Exactly at the time Potions was scheduled to begin, the professor teaching the lesson skulked into the classroom, his black cloak billowing behind him, and immediately began taking roll. When Harry's name came up, the professor paused.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, and Harry could just make out the barely-concealed derision in the man's tone. "Harry Potter, our new… _celebrity_."

Once the professor finished calling the names of the students in his class, he launched into a self-important monologue that reminded Harry of a Bond villain's, albeit one with none of the subtly or wit.

"Potter!" the professor suddenly snapped. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry quickly recalled his reading. "Sleeping potion, sir," he said.

"Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?"

"The books say in a goat, sir," said Harry, noting Hermione's hand had shot up. "But technically, any living thing with any number of a gastro-intestinal disorders might develop one, and the Chinese traditionally use ox bezoars to remove toxins from the body."

"A point from Hufflepuff for cheek," snarled the professor, and Harry got the distinct feeling this would end badly. "What's the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry mentally thanked Jack for having gardening as a hobby along with tabletop gaming and for drilling poisonous plants into his head. "None, sir," he said. "They're both also known as aconite, blue rocket, devil's helmet, and queen of poisons; a twenty to forty milliliter dose can be fatal to adult humans in two to six hours." That very last fact had been something Jason had chimed in with when Jack had been telling him about her garden.

The professor recoiled as if struck, visibly snarling. Seeing the stunned silence around the room, he growled, "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

Wordlessy, Harry flipped open his notebook and began to take down notes by pen when the professor interrupted. "Potter, where are your parchment and quill?"

"I don't have any, sir," Harry said, without looking up from his writing. "They were not on the list of required equipment, sir, so I did not purchase any."

"Two points from Hufflepuff," snapped the professor. "I expect you to have parchment and quill by the next lesson."

"That would be impossible, sir," said Harry.

"Three points from Hufflepuff for talking back!"

Harry sighed and resigned himself to losing a lot of points in Potions, though he had no idea why he should care about those points, and things did not improve as the lesson continued. Assigned to make a "simple" Potion to cure boils alongside the rest of the class with nothing more than the professor's scrawled directions on the chalkboard, Harry found himself referencing the Potions textbook for more thorough instructions; following those, which were far more detailed than the ones the professor had written on the board, he finished the Potion just as the period ended, bottling the results and turning it in along with his classmates.

With two and a quarter hours until his next lesson, double History of Magic, Harry quickly packed his belongings back into his bag and headed for the door, only to be intercepted by Hermione.

"If you need parchment and quill, you can use some of mine," offered the bushy-haired girl, as she followed him out of the Potions classroom.

"I think I'll be all right," said Harry. "The Herbology professor didn't seem to care I was using notepad and pen."

"What's your next lesson?" Hermione asked.

"Double History of Magic at fourteen hundred," said Harry. "You?"

It took the girl a moment to digest the time as Harry had given it to her, her brow furrowing momentarily as her mind did the math. Then, "Double Herbology, at the same time."

"I had Herbology right before Potions," said Harry.

"And I had History of Magic," said Hermione.

"That's good, we can help each other prepare for the afternoon class," said Harry.

"Let's go to the library," Hermione suggested.

"We can't talk in there," Harry reminded her. "There're a lot of abandoned classrooms; let's use one of those instead."

The bushy-haired brunette nodded, and off they went.

**~ooOoo~**

"So, you figure out what's your team yet?"

Harry looked up from reading _A History of Magic_ to find the familiar, guileless face of the ginger in front of him. Across the room, the chubby brunette fidgeted anxiously, eyes darting to and fro, almost like he was trying to work up the courage to approach.

Harry quickly racked his mind; though he was fit enough, sports was not something he was particularly interest in, unlike Shaun, and he tried to remember the name of the football club the construction foreman was an ardent supporter of. It took him a few moments, but it eventually came to him as the red-haired boy watched him expectantly, and he said, "The Abbey Rangers."

"I've never of them," the redhead said, brow furrowed in a frown. Then, his expression brightened as he asked, "Where did you go after Herbology?"

"Potions," Harry said opaquely, knowing full well what the boy meant and having no interest in giving him the answer he was wanted.

There was a moment of silence. Then, the ginger asked, "Do you play chess?"

Having an inkling of where the question was leading, Harry lied. "I've never played."

"Oh," said the redhead. Then, his face brightened and he started talking a mile of minute, trying and failing miserably in his haste to explain the rules and intricacies of the board game to a listener who would rather be somewhere else.

After several minutes, Harry finally cut in, "Well, if you learn _xiangqi_, I'll play you."

"Shankey?"

"Chinese chess," said Harry, deciding it would be in his best interest to not correct the ginger's butchery of the Chinese phrase.

"Will you teach me?" asked the redhead.

"No, because that would defeat the point, but maybe somebody else in school knows," said the noirette, before nodding his head in the direction of the redhead's housemates. "Why not start by asking the Gryffindor first years?"

With a sense of wistfulness, the ginger wandered off to talk to his other classmates, and Harry nodded at the chubby boy, who quickly looked around to make sure he was being nodded at. Realizing he was still hesitant, Harry pointed at him, then beckoned him to come, and the chubby boy reluctantly approached.

"You need something?" Harry asked.

The boy swallowed, then averted his eyes. "I tried to take your advice and not worry about things I couldn't control, but I can't," he said. "Please, do you have anything that could help?"

Harry's brow furrowed; this was turning into more of a chore than he had wanted it to be, but at this point, he was already committed, so he decided he might as well see it through. "I'll write a friend and ask," he said. "I'll let you know was soon as I hear back."

"Thank you," said the boy, almost too grateful.

It was at this point, a ghost floated into the room, and Harry would had been surprised had Hermione not already told him the professor for the class was an incorporeal undead. Without pausing to take a roll call, or even see if the students were properly situated in seats, the ghost began his lecture, his voice a monotone drone.

**~ooOoo~**

Harry was glad Hermione had warned him about the ghost professor and his bland lecture; while he certainly did not have Hermione's near-perfect memory for books, Harry did have the book in hand, and he had taken the opportunity to confirm that lesson the ghost was teaching was in fact word for word from the text. Nonetheless, Harry had made notes as he half-listened to the lecture, instead focusing on the words in the volume; he already knew he learned better by reading, so rather than listen too heavily to the droning lesson, he instead read the copy the ghost was plagiarizing from and made detailed notes for his own use.

His fellow students, however, were not as lucky; by the end of the first half of the double lesson, soft, if audible, snores could be heard from around the room, including one from the ginger, and Harry found himself yawning, though he managed to keep his focus on the lesson, or rather, on teaching himself.

The end of the class had seen the students slowly rousing from their naps, and Harry had hurried in getting his things packed away, not wanting to be made to listen to the ginger again. However, he had no such luck; even though he had managed to leave the History of Magic classroom well before the redhead, it turned out he also shared his next class, an astronomy lecture, with him, and he found himself once again being harassed by the ginger until he reminded him of the possibility of playing _xiangqi_, which set him back on asking his classmates and bothering them in general, leaving Harry to his own devices.

The astronomy lecture had been uneventful; unlike the History of Magic professor, the astronomy professor did not recite the textbook word for word, which made the lecture somewhat more useful; however, the lesson was only forty-five minutes long because it was not a double lesson, and before long, the professor was dismissing the class and reminding them to not forget the night-time practicum on Friday.

As quickly as Harry tried to get out of the Astronomy class, he could not prevent the ginger from following him closely even as he subtly made his displeasure known, confirming to Harry that the redhead would only understand the most blatant gestures. Not wanting to use the same technique for losing a tail twice in one day, Harry instead returned to the Hufflepuff dormitories, where the Gryffindor could not followed, and went to his room to revise Herbology and Potions before cooking himself a dinner with food from his reserves.

Afterwards, he had found an abandoned classroom to continue experimenting with the spells found in the _Player's Handbook_, before doing his daily evening exercise regimen and taking a cold shower to wash himself clean.

Now, he sat at his desk, waiting to properly dry out before crawling into bed, and he began to write the letter he had told the chubby Gryffindor he would.

_My friend, how are you doing? I wants to let you know I'm doing well. There's something strange about my lessons, but those lessons are about magic, so maybe there's nothing strange at all. However, to question such a prestigious educational institution seems foolish. Can't help but think maybe what's wrong isn't them, but me instead. I'll relax when I finally figure it out._

_There's some people approaching me about my fame, but I've been handling them the way I usually do. A skunk got into the common room, and stunk it up completely. There might be a way to get rid of the smell, but we're in the basement, so air doesn't flow nearly as well as if it were somewhere else. How do you think this will work out? Can the students of Hufflepuff survive the smell? The trick would be to wear a face mask, right?_

_There maybe a future for me here. But some of the times, all of this seems so damn strange. There's seeds of what I knew from before, but most of it is new to me. Roommate and I get along, though, since he's from a normal family too. There's a sense of camaraderie there because of that. I'm growing to think he might be a top bloke. Will guide me through some of the stuff I didn't quite understand, he said. He's as clever as a fox. All's well that ends well, right?_

_Hȧrry _

He read over the letter once after he finished it; at first glance, it could pass for the inane natterings of a child trying to figure out his surroundings, particularly with the childish hand he had written it in, but Harry had buried a message in it with in a basic code, like Jason had taught him at Romy's insistence. Anything more complex would likely bring suspicion to the message.

Quickly, he folded the letter and sealed it inside an envelope from a box he had bought from John Lewis. Sticking two fingers into his mouth, Harry whistled loudly; a moment later, Leia flew in through the open door of the dorm room, and Harry patted her on the top of the head, feeding her a treat before slipping the letter into backpack he had fitted the owl with.

"You know where to take it?" asked Harry, and Leia hooted sagely before taking off.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I've never liked the common characterization of Ron Weasley as being less intelligent than his peers; if anything, his behavior has always kind of struck me as being ADD, where he can't concentrate on things that don't interest him but hyperfocuses on things he loves, like Quidditch. In a way, he's as socially awkward as Hermione, because he doesn't have a filter between his brain and his mouth.

As Karen noted in chapter 5, Harry has a bad habit of not learning names of people he considers unimportant, which is why names come up so rarely even after people have introduced themselves; it's when he starts knowing their names that it's clear he thinks of them of worthy of his notice.

Before it gets comments, Ritalin was invented in 1944 and was in use as a treatment for ADHD by 1962. That said, Harry doesn't know the difference of treatments for ADD & ADHD; after all, none of his friends are medical doctors or psychiatrists. A glaring gap in his knowledge, but hey, he's 11, so I'm sure he'll find a way to fill it by the time he's grown.

For anybody who is interested what the hidden message in the post is, take the second word in every sentence within a paragraph, and it forms a sentence. Yes, the dot above the A in his signature is deliberate and not just a mark on your monitor.

Review, don't review, mind-control, etc. It's like having a conversation, except it's the readers yelling at me in public and me having no way to respond in kind.

These author's notes are starting to get long.

Thanks to Shinshikaizer for the original story treatment, and goalie12345 for copy-editing.


	15. Pointless

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 15: Pointless**

* * *

The Charms professor was as short as Harry, no small feat given the black-haired boy himself was a bit short for his own age. The first Charms lesson on Wednesday morning, a double session with Slytherin, consisted purely of theory, which Harry grasped almost as soon as the concepts left the diminutive professor's lips. Nonetheless, he continued to take notes in a notebook with pen and pencil, noting mirthlessly to himself that neither this professor nor his head of house, who taught Herbology, cared how he was producing study materials; he did not bother to count the ghost who taught history of magic in his considerations, as the specter did not even seem cognizant of his surroundings.

Of course, the single session of history after Charms had driven this point home; by the end of the lesson, more than half the students in Gryffindor were asleep, yet the ghost seemed no more aware of that than when Harry had surreptitiously bounced rock he had picked up from the grounds for the purpose noisily towards the front of the classroom. Adding in the lecture had once again been word-for-word lifted from the textbook, Harry questioned the ghost's value as a lecturer and considered the option of simply skipping attending the class except for exams to spend the time further pursuing his own interests, namely classes that he couldn't simply pass by reading and memorizing the textbook, and to also avoid the inane natterings of the ginger who clearly could not take a hint.

With only morning lessons for the day, Harry had spent the afternoon first revising for Charms and history, then in the library pursuing research on more on the theory of Charms. While the tiny professor had been fairly clear on the basic concepts of Charms, he had spoken nothing of visualization and energy management, and those were all components to spellcasting Harry had always known to be involved in magic, so he had decided it was he would have to research these elements on his own if the professor were to make no mention of them.

He had once again spent the evening in an abandoned classroom, practicing magic on his own. His study of _alter self_ was coming along nicely; already he could transform his hands into bear paws tipped with razor-sharp claws and back, and along with his skill in growing wings from his shoulder blades, there was already much he could do with that single spell, but whenever he tried using it to mimic the appearance of somebody else, it never quite worked out the way he wanted it, almost as if his mental image of the person was not perfectly clear, and thus his result was always some bizarre facsimile that resembled a caricature more than the genuine article.

Thursday morning was double Transfiguration, once again with the house of the snakes. Professor McGonagall, a severe elderly woman who spoke with a Scottish accent that sounded nothing like Jack's soft, Ayrshire-influenced lilt; where he to guess, Harry would have thought her from near Edinburgh, but beyond that, he could not place the regional accent.

She had threatened the entire class at the beginning of the first lesson, warning them to not mess around in her class lest they be forcibly removed and never allowed to return. She had followed the threat with a demonstration, turning her desk into a pig and then reversing it, but as the lecture that followed quickly proved, the class was a long way from that.

Instead, after the lecture portion of the lesson ended, each student was given a match and was told to transfigure it into a needle via a spell the professor had demonstrated once. Harry mimicked her incantation and wand-waving as best as he could, mentally picturing the match transforming a silvery sliver of sharpened steel with a hole in the other end, but as he drew energy from the Astral plane and tried to pass it through the wand, as he imagined he would find it necessary, he found the stick of pine in his hand unwilling to let in the astral power, something he had absolutely never experienced before with any object he had made for use with magic.

Frustration starting to simmer, Harry tried changing hands, altering the way he enunciated the incantation, adjusting the way he waved the wand around, but through it all, one thing remained the same: his wand simply refused to allow Astral power to pass through it. It was beyond baffling for him; never before had Harry known an object crafted precisely to function with magic to so obstinately reject Astral power when he tried to pass such energy through it, and while it was true that he had only tried it with magical items he had created himself, he had a hard time imagining why magical items created by others would have such problems.

By the end of the lesson, Harry was ready to put his fist through the desk in front of him or break his hand trying. He had made no progress in turning the match into a needle, and it was the first time he had spent so much time on trying a spell with so little indication of progress; even when he had cast deliberate magic for the first time and then began experimenting to teach himself new ways to use it, he had always made visible progress, albeit progress often being things going spectacularly awry. At least the professor had not cared how he had taken notes, and he had managed to palm a box of matches to take with him as he left the class.

The entire experience had put him in a surly mood heading into Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the Quirrell's lesson did nothing to lighten his irritation. The classroom reaked of garlic, and he stammered when he spoke; when he was asked how he fought off a zombie, which he had said he had done to receive the turban he wore from from an African prince, he instead started talking about the weather. At lesson's end, Harry was no more knowledgeable about the subject than when he had went in it, and _that_ felt like a waste of time he would never get back. As there hadn't been any notes worth taking, Harry had no idea how Quirrell felt about his usage of notebook and pen for the task.

The only bright spot amidst his sullen mood was Hermione; at the end of the lesson, she had sought him out, suggesting they revise for potions, which they had together following lunch, meaning they had just over two hours before returning to the dungeon. Harry had agreed to the suggestion, albeit with his own ulterior motive, and it was not long before he and Hermione were once again in an abandoned classroom, a place where they could talk aloud.

"You had Transfiguration yesterday, right?" asked Harry, before Hermione could start on Potions.

"Yes?" asked Hermione, unsure where the question was going.

"The lesson ended with trying to turn a matchstick into needle?"

"Yes?"

"How far did you progress?"

"I made my matchstick silver," Hermione, her chest puffing in pride.

Wordlessly, Harry produced to box of matches he had stolen, opening it and dumping its contents out onto the desk between them. "Show me," he said, as he pulled a single match from the pile on the table.

Hermione frowned. "Professor McGonagall…"

"Said not to mess around in _her_ class," Harry retorted before the bushy-haired brunette could finish her thought. "This isn't her class. Or any class, for that matter."

Hermione's furrowed brow did not change. "Transfiguration is dangerous," she protested.

"If it was really as dangerous as they're saying it is, we wouldn't be allowed anywhere near it," Harry argued back. "You know what's really dangerous? Guns. They're so dangerous, we're not allowed anywhere near them, and there are even laws the say we can't have them."

Hermione tried to find a counterargument but could not in the heat of the moment. Sighing, she drew her wand, waved it and incanted the proper chant, then tapped the match with the length of wood in her hand. Instantly, it turned silver all over and pointed on one end.

Harry picked up the transfigured match with one hand, examining it closely. Despite the color and the point, it was still obviously wood, which Harry proved when he snapped it in half. Frowning, he looked up at Hermione. "How did you do it?" he asked.

Hermione blinked. "I performed the wand movements and incanted the spell, then touched the wand to the match," she said, looking at Harry like he was asking the most obvious question.

Harry sighed when he realized the difference between himself and Hermione; she did not need to think about how things worked and simply accepted that they did, so his asking her how she did it was akin to asking a child how they breathed. Quickly, he drew his own wand and separated a match from the pile, then imitated the very things Hermione had done.

Nothing happened to the match.

The brunette's frown deepened. "I'd have thought you'd be able to transform the match into a needle," she said.

"Turns out I'm not a magical prodigy after all," Harry said, biting back his sarcasm as he pocketed his wand. "Can you show me again?"

Hermione happily obliged, and another match turned silver and pointed.

"What are you doing for visualization?" Harry asked.

"Visualization?" Hermione asked.

"A mental image for what you want to happen," said the black-haired boy. "You are doing that, aren't you?"

Hermione's face flushed, and Harry had his answer. "Well, I…"

"Why don't you try it again while visualizing the match turning into a needle?" he suggested, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the deck of cards he kept there, quickly dumping it out into one hand before tossing the box to the far side of the pile of matches.

Hermione nodded, separated a match from the pile, repeating her wand movements and chant with her look of concentration on her face; when she touched her wand to the wooden match, there was a moment of nothing, followed by the match shimmering and transforming fully into the shape of a needle, even though it remained wood.

As Harry absent-mindedly shuffled the cards in his hands, Hermione studied the wooden needle on the desk before her in awe. "I couldn't do that before," she said.

"It's still wood," said Harry, cards in hand. "Did you visualize a metal for the needle?"

"I didn't," she admitted, before pulling another match from the pile and repeating her previous gesture and chant. This time, when she touched the match with her wand, it become a piece of steel with a pinpoint at one end and a rounded eye in the other.

"How did that feel?" Harry asked.

"It felt great!" exclaimed the bushy-haired girl. "I finally did it!"

"I didn't mean emotionally," said the boy, and the girl's face fell. "No, I mean it's great you did it, but I meant to ask, how did the magic feel?"

"How did the magic feel?"

"There's a sensation when you use magic, right?" asked Harry, drawing upon his own experiences as he tried to explain it without giving too much away. "Like, the feeling of something passing through your arm, maybe?"

"Oh, like that," said Hermione, finally understanding what Harry meant. Her face turned contemplative for a moment. "It felt like something warm was here, in my tummy," she said, patting her abdomen as she did so, "and when I cast the spell, it flowed up into my arm and out of the wand."

"Can you describe the warmth?" Harry asked, mindessly shuffling cards.

The girl was thoughtful. "It's a little like being in a warm bath, but on the inside," she said after another moment of thinking. "Like warm soup."

Harry set down the cards and pulled his wand again, imitating the motions and sounds Hermione had made; this time, rather than try to direct the power had drawn from the Astral plane straight into the pine in his hand, he sent it through his nervous system, to his belly first, before brought it back up to his hand and trying to pass it through the wand.

Once again, the wand remained inert, unreceptive to Astral power; when he touched it to the match he had separated out from the pile, once again, nothing happened.

Annoyed, Harry put down his wand and picked up the deck of cards again, shuffling them as he tried to settle his mind. Across from him, Hermione once again performed the spell, and when the match turned into a perfect needle, she looked like the cat who caught the canary.

"Again," said Harry, and, as he watched, Hermione obliged, turning another match into a needle.

"Again."

Hermione happily repeated the spell, and another match became a needle.

Having committed the sound of Hermione's chant and the way she moved her wand to memory, Harry put down the deck of cards once more, taking up his wand and imitating what her actions, a clear image of the wooden match transforming compositionally into a steel needle in his mind. As he drew Astral power through his body, he let it linger in his belly for a moment letting it flow back into his arm and to the wand; when it once again remained dormant, he tried to force the Astral power into pine wood.

Almost explosively, the wand went flying from his hand, and Hermione barely ducked in time to avoid being struck in the face. As it struck the desk behind her and clattered to the stone floor, Harry's frustration nearly boiled over, and it was all he could do to growl, "Maybe we should revise for Potions.", instead of putting his hand through the desk.

Hermione wanted to object, wanting her friend to be able to do the transfiguration spell like she was able to, but a single glance at the raven-haired boy's dark countenance and the protest died on her lips; for the first time, she felt an aura of danger radiating from him, and thought better than to persist. There would be other times she could try again, like after Potions.

**~ooOoo~**

Double Potions had been half lecture, half practical; during the lecture, the Potions professor once again took house points for his use of pen and notepad for note taking, but during the practicum, Harry had once again tuned him out and produced a working version of the potion required for lesson, though he had to once more turn to the textbook for specific directions, as Snape's instructions were once again lacking in detail.

At the end of Potions, Hermione had pulled him away to an abandoned classroom, insisting he once again try to transfigure matches into needles, and he obliged, though each attempt was no more successful than the last. In between his attempts, he asked Hermione to explain her methods and had her demonstrate the spell repeatedly; at his suggestion, she began transforming matches into needles of different materials, and, without even changing her chant or her wand movements, the bushy-haired girl succeeded for every time he failed. Still, he had kept his annoyance at bay, in no small part thanks to Hermione's willingness to describe her process to him one step at a time, even patiently repeating herself when he asked her to.

Still, there was only so much fruitless labor and frustration he could let build and keep hidden; by the end of the hour, Harry begged off, lying and saying he wanted to have an early dinner. After walking Hermione to the library, he headed across the castle in search of another abandoned classroom; once securely inside, he dumped the rest of the matches out of the box and onto a desk.

His mind ran through the _mudra_s he knew, the techniques and forms at his disposal, and then his experience in creating the rod he had used for muscle ups every morning since arriving, since it involved both plant and mineral; it would be a compound spell, something he still had little experience with, though little was still better than none.

Raising his right hand, index finger pointed straight up and the remaining fingers loosely curled downwards, he grasped it in the fist of his left in the _bodhyagri mudra_, while in his mind's eye, he pictured wood matches turning into steel needles. "_Muto herbam, creo terram_," he said, drawing power from the Astral plane into his body, through his nervous system then once again out, touching the pile matchsticks and passing the energy into them.

On the desk, the heap of matches shuddered; then, one matchstick at the top of the pile smoothly transformed into a perfect needle, before another swiftly followed, and soon, there was a cascade of steel as the jumble of wood fell apart, the rounded sewing implements unable to retain the shape of the pile as they moved around during the transmutation.

Harry looked upon the scattered needles in satisfaction. It wasn't that _he_ couldn't turn matches into needles; it was that, for whatever reason, the spell he was being taught wasn't functioning in the way it was meant to when he attempted them. Maybe it was the wand, which refused to accept Astral power. Maybe it was that source of the magic wasn't just from inside him, the way Hermione had described the feeling of magic when she was casting spells. No matter what it was, it wasn't working for him, and he was going to figure out why.

But first, he would need more matches. Smiling to himself, he considered casting _dispel magic_, using the _tattva mudra_ and a chant of "_perdo vim_" in concert to remove the magic in play, but knew he would still need to round up the matches from on the floor, and in an unused classroom no less, and decided against it. Instead, he went back to experimenting with _alter self_, which didn't need matches.

**~ooOoo~**

When he entered the Hufflepuff common room, he found an older student awaiting him, stopping him just as he cross the threshold.

"Potter, you need to start using parchment and quills," said the older boy, trying to shove rolls of the paper substitute, inkwells and feathers into the smaller boy's hands.

"Yeah, no thanks," Harry said, refusing the take the proffered objects.

"Potter, if you don't take these, as a prefect, I will have to deduct house points," said the prefect.

"Why do _you _care?" the black-haired boy asked suspiciously, still refusing the stationary.

"Professor Snape will continue to take house points from Hufflepuff if you don't use parchment and quill," explained the prefect, as though that explained everything.

"What are house points and why do we care about them?"

The common room was suddenly very, very silent, and Harry thought he could hear the distant sound of quill scritching against parchment.

"Potter, whatever do you mean?" the prefect asked, absolutely flabbergasted.

"I mean, what do we get for house points?" Harry asked.

"At the end of the year, whichever house has the most house points wins the House Cup," explained the prefect, in a tone one might take with a small, confused child.

"Why do we care?" asked Harry.

"It's the House Cup," said the prefect, as though the answer was self-explanatory.

"So?" asked Harry.

"It's the _House Cup_," repeated the older student.

"What does it do?"

"What?"

"What does the House Cup do?"

"It doesn't do anything. It's the House Cup."

"Do our names get engraved on it, like the Stanley Cup?"

"No? And what's the Stanley Cup?"

"A normal people thing," said Harry, not bothering to explain. "Is there a record of which house won the House Cup any given year?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"How about who individually contributed the most to acquiring the House Cup?

"No, but we're Hufflepuff, we're loyal and support each other!"

"When you apply for a job, can you put the House Cup or house points on your CV?"

The prefect frowned. "No."

"So, why do we care about something that does nothing, has no impact on our real lives after Hogwarts, and we're not even going to be remembered for winning or contributing to?"

Silence hung heavily in the air as the students in the common room processed the words that had been exchanged, which was soon broken as they began to murmur amongst themselves.

"Why _do _we care about the House Cup?" asked the prefect, looking suitably confused.

"Were you told we should care?" Harry asked, looking at him sideways suspiciously.

"Kind of?" the older student said, still perplexed. "I just assumed…"

"Well, Hufflepuffs are supposed to be loyal and support each other, right?" asked Harry.

"Yeah!" agreed the prefect, nodding in affirmative.

"So, it was just natural you'd support Hufflepuff in getting house points, right?"

"Of course!"

"Didn't need to ask, because loyalty doesn't need questions."

"Yeah!"

"So, do you know why you've been told you care about house points?" asked Harry, and the prefect nodded vigorously.

"It's so the staff can control the students," the black-haired boy said, lips curling into a smile. "There's what, fifteen adults on staff, and about three hundred students?"

"Sounds about right," the older boy said.

"Well, then, there's no way they can be in enough places to keep control of the students without a system of controls in place," said Harry. "That's all the House Cup is, really, a system for the staff to control the students, through the carrot and the stick, where you get points for doing good things and lose points for breaking rules."

"What's wrong with following rules?" the prefect demanded indignantly.

"None, if they're sane," Harry answered, "but we shouldn't be following the rules just because house points are on the line. If one of the rules demanded each House sacrifice their weakest member to the great god Imhotep at the end of the year, or the House loses house points, would you do it?"

"Of course not!" said the prefect. "That would be wrong to do."

"Then we don't need house points for us to tell wrong from right," said Harry, and the prefect nodded. "So, why do we care about house points?"

The prefect couldn't find an answer, not even a long moment. "I don't know."

"We shouldn't," said Harry. "In fact, the house points are pointless; they exist as a system of control for the adults to keep the students in line, but as you've seen and heard about Snape, the staff will abuse it for their own ends."

"What should we do, then?" asked the prefect, seemingly lost.

"We should stop caring about the House Cup," Harry said, drawing gasps from around the room. "Look, I'm not saying we should go out of our way to do things that will lose house points, but we shouldn't let losing house points stop us from doing what we want to. I mean, Snape takes points left and right because I'm using a notepad, a pen and a pencil to take notes, but using a notebook to take notes doesn't make it more difficult for me to study; in fact, it's actually easier, since, instead of digging through rolls of parchment trying to find the one with the subject you're looking for, notebooks are actually capable of taking tags and dog-ears, so it's way easier to organize and find what you want to revise. And pencils are way better for writing than quills; you don't have to worry about blotting ink, and you can even easily correct mistakes without having to scratch it out or start over."

"So, we should just ignore the House Cup," repeated back the prefect, still in a state of shock.

"Yeah, that sounds about right," said Harry. "Well, I'm going to my room, and you can keep the parchment and quill."

Harry walked back to the bedroom he shared with Roger; after an entire day of frustration, it felt great to finally be able to go off and just break down something that made no sense to him.

He had no idea the havoc he has just wrought.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** This Harry loves the library, and gets along with Madam Pince. Who'd have thought?

For everybody who predicted Harry wouldn't be able to use wand magic, congratulations on observation. Was I that obvious?

Never understood the value of the House Cup for the students; all it really is is a tool of control over the students. Always surprised no Ravenclaws figured it out; for supposedly being the house that values intelligence and the pursuit of knowledge, they're remarkably uninsightful. Guess they're just not that clever.

Review, mind-control, yada yada.

Credit to Shinshikaizer for the initial story treatment, and goalie12345 for copy-editing.


	16. Young, Fast and Out of Control

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 16: Young, Fast and Out of Control**

* * *

Harry was on his way out of his dorm and to the library Friday morning when he ran into Roger, who was coming back from breakfast.

"You won't believe what happened at breakfast," Roger announced excitedly.

"Yeah?" Harry asked conversationally, "What happened?"

"Truman and the other prefect declared House Hufflepuff was withdrawing from the House Cup to focus on more important things," said the blonde, grinning. "When Professor McGonagall took house points, Truman said it didn't matter, 'cause Hufflepuffs weren't participating in the Cup. Professor Sprout looked like she was going to turn green; I don't think the prefects talked with her before they decided to make the announcement.

"Then, Clearwater and Hilliard, the Ravenclaw prefects, stood up and proclaimed Ravenclaw would be joining us in not being in not participating the House Cup. Professor Flitwick was livid!"

"Good," said the black-haired boy, shouldering his bag. "I'm going to the library to do some research for Transfigurations. I'll see you at Flying at eleven-thirty."

"See you there," Roger called to Harry's departing back.

**~ooOoo~**

The two and a half hours Harry had spent in the library trying to figure out why he couldn't perform the spell he had seen Hermione cast with little effort had paid no dividends; even with help of Madam Pince, who Harry thought rather attractive in her own austere librarian way, the volumes he read that morning gave no indication why he had difficulty with the transfiguration. Like the librarian, Harry was annoyed by the other students who tried to talk in the library, and when several at his table started to chatter, he growled softly from the back of his throat and shot them a look when they turned toward the noise he had made, his lip curled back in a feral snarl and violence flashing in his piercing green eyes, sending them packing in a hurry and leaving the table in peace. From her desk, Madam Pince had seemed to approve, as she had favored the black-haired boy with a small smile when their eyes had a moment later, and he had acknowledged the smile with a slight nod.

He had made sure to place the books in the cart by the librarian's desk with a nod when he had finished with them, rather than leave them on the table or try to return them to the stacks; previous experiences at the public library had taught him librarians preferred to have the books returned to the circulation desk so they could track the number times a book had been pulled from the shelves without being loaned out to a patron, and having a book returned to the wrong location within the collection made the volume impossible to find later except for by accident. Madam Pince's appreciative nod had made it known that he was doing things the right way in the Hogwarts school library, and he had left for Flying with a sense of knowing he still knew how libraries functioned even when it was a completely different system of filing.

Finding the part of the grounds where the Flying lesson were to take place was not difficult; there were already a series of brooms in neat lines on the grass, which swayed in the cool breeze. Checking his watch, Harry could see he was sixteen minutes early, and he set aside his haversack and robe as he took the opportunity to warm up for what he thought might be some strenuous physical exercise, and he knew an eight-minute workout regimen that would get him at least warm for what was next, having already heard from the annoying ginger and his mousy friend that the lesson went straight into the flying.

He was upside down, up on his hands and in the middle of a handstand push up when the first other student arrived, and as he had expected, it was Hermione, who clearly, like himself, would rather be early than late.

"What are you doing?" asked the bushy-haired girl, having twisted her entire upper body to try to look the black-haired boy in the face.

"Warming up," Harry said, doing another pushup. As his watch beeped, he let himself drop lightly into the vinyl mat under him, quickly slapping the button on the face of the watch that switched the next timer, and he exhaled slowly, trying to maintain his breathing rhythm. "Gryffindor had this earlier in the week. This annoying ginger said they went right into the Flying, but if you paid attention in P.E., you'll know you should stretch before doing any strenuous exercise to reduce the chances injuring yourself."

"I'm not very fond of exercise," Hermione admitted somewhat reluctantly.

"Well, I'm not either, but you need it for a healthy body," said Harry. As the alarm on his watch beeped again, he slapped it and stood up, starting on star jumps, making sure to use the correct form as he did each to reduce the strain on his knees. When the watch beeped again, he stopped and once again breathed out slowly, trying to maintain a steady breath as he swayed.

"What are you doing?" asked the brunette, obviously curious.

"Forty-five seconds of exercise, then fifteen seconds of rest," the boy said, trying to keep his breath from going ragged as he stood with his hands on his knees. "I've got about a minute left of this, so let me wrap this quick."

His watch beeped again, and he quickly slapped it, then stood up straight before bellyflopping forwards onto the mat, pushing himself up off the floor and pulling his legs under him before standing back up. Wobbling slightly, he repeated the progression until his watch beeped twice, at which point he flopped into the mat, rolling over onto his back and breathing hard.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, concerned.

"Yeah," Harry growled. Slowly, he rolled off the mat and sat up, carefully rolling the mat back into a cylinder and dropping it into his bag, before toppling himself into it, to Hermione's surprise.

Looking into the bag, she could see nothing, and she called in after Harry, "Are you okay?"

"Gimme a sec," came the shouted response, and Hermione sat back. A minute or so later, he rose out of bag, a bottle of yellow fluid in one hand and a plastic-wrapped piece of food stuck in his mouth, looking much better than before.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked again, concerned.

The boy bit into the food in his mouth, then took a swig from the bottle before chew rapidly with his mouth closed. After a moment, he swallowed, then took another drink before saying, "Warmed up a little more than I probably should have," he said, exhaling deeply. Quickly, he stuffed the rest of the bar of food into his mouth, then tossed the wrapper into his open bag before going to where his robe was, holding the both of the bottle between his teeth as he pulled it on and wrapped it tight around his still-warm body.

As other students began to filter in, Harry and Hermione talked quietly, mostly about what they had been taught in lessons thus far. It was not long before Madam Hooch, the Flying teacher, marched arrived in a brisk march. With her short, gray hair and angular features, Harry thought she looked very punk rock.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick! Come on, hurry up!"

Standing, Harry shouldered his bag and strode up to a broom at random; Hermione made her way to the broom next to his, the only Ravenclaw in a line of Hufflepuffs, and Harry wondered to himself whether she had made any new friends yet.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called the Flying instructor at the front of the cluster of students, "and say 'Up!'"

Students spoke, pleaded, shouted and barked the command at their brooms. In the cacophony of the jumble of voices, Harry could see the broom Hermione was working with roll over on the ground out of the corner of his eye.

The broom he was standing over, however, did nothing.

"Up!" growled Harry, putting the edge of anger into his voice, but the broom seemed oblivious to the threat of violence.

As the gray-haired woman went around to the students, showing them how to mount their brooms, Harry bent over and picked up the one he was working with by hand. He could feel Hermione's disapproving glance; she had gotten the broom to fly into her hands after a few attempts, but Harry had a sense the broom would react to him about as well as his wand had.

After ensuring the students knew the proper way to mount a broom, Madam Hooch instructed them to kick off from the ground hard when she blew the whistle, and a moment later, she did just that.

All around Harry, students began floating off the ground as the brooms levitated under them; even Hermione was able to do despite her earlier admissions of nervousness.

Harry remained firmly on the ground, despite kicking his foot quite hard against the grass.

Taking a deep breath, the black-haired boy tried kicking the ground again, and when that failed, tried jumping of the ground, but neither did the trick; gravity maintained its hold on him, even as other students started descending back to the grassy ground.

Growling to himself, Harry drew power from the Astral plane, letting it flow through his body before trying to pass it into the broom, expecting the same kind of resistance his wand had given him.

Instead, the broom sucked in the Astral energy hungrily, and then suddenly, he was off like rocket, a conduit between the broomstick and the Astral plane as flew out from under his legs, pulling him hand-first into the air in a straight line, bucking like a bronco in a Wild West show.

From the ground, Madam Hooch was shouting something up at him, but he couldn't hear her with the air rushing by his ears.

Harry held on with both hands as tight as he could, wind whipping through his jet black locks as he tore through the air above the grounds with the control of a rider on an unbroken stallion, faster than he could ever remember going in a car. While the broom certainly did turn when he muscled it in a direction, it was bucking so wildly that he could barely hold on, let alone control it in any meaningful way. All the while, Astral energy flowed through him and into the broom.

Suddenly, the broomstick spun in the direction of the castle wall and charged right at it; with barely any time to reach, Harry barely managed to brace himself just as the broom jerked in a sharp turn, sending him into the hard stone with centripetal force as he finally lost his grip.

Violent pain shot up from Harry's leg, but he didn't have time to think about it now; he was in freefall, three, maybe four stories up off the ground and plummeting head-first towards an impact, though in he could see Madam Hooch was still standing there, shouting up at him and making no attempts to intercede in his fall, but still, everything seem to suddenly slow down.

The boy's mind raced. He guessed he had a maybe a second before his face would be in the grass, all senses knocked out of him. Yet, somehow, he remembered the _Player's Handbook_, and more specifically, _feather fall_, a first level spell that had no material component, no somatic component, and only a verbal one. What he needed to do, of course, was figure out the incantation in real time before he was dead.

In the next couple years, Harry would sometimes wonder to himself how he was able to come up with the spell without having methodically figuring it over first, but through gritted teeth, he whispered a chant so far below his breath, he might as well not have articulated it, even as he clenched his eyes closed and braced for impact.

"_Muto auram_."

Suddenly, he found his descent slowing, until he wafted to the ground like a feather, touching down lightly. Only then did he look at the source of the pain in his leg and saw bone sticking out from a tear in this trousers.

It was the last thing he remembered before the black of unconsciousness claimed him.

**~ooOoo~**

Harry awoke with a start and a groan, sitting up and immediately feeling a dull throb of pain in his right thigh. Looking around, he saw he was in a medical facility of sorts, with white flagstone floors, cots and room dividers straight out of a World War II movie, though he could make out the castle walls of Hogwarts in the backdrop, and he silently wondered to himself why the supposedly best magical school in the world was so behind the curve; without ceiling-to-floor dividers between patients, illnesses could transmit between them with a cough or a sneeze.

He was roused from his thoughts by a motherly-looking gray-haired woman in a nurse's uniform that matched the decor coming to him, obviously drawn by the sound he had made waking up.

"Mister Potter, I'll need you to drink this," said the woman, her voice soft and low as she tried to place a small cup of viscous off-green in his hands.

Instinctively, Harry recoiled, and she nearly dropped the cup. "Who are you?" he asked, though he could take a guess from her clothes. "Where am I? What is that?"

"Mister Potter, I am Madam Pomfrey, the matron here at the Medical Wing of Hogwarts," explained the woman, a touch of concern in her expression and voice. "This is Skele-Gro; it'll help mend your broken leg, which I set while you were unconscious."

Harry cautiously accepted the cup; bringing it to his lips, he gagged as what he could only identify as the scent of rotting fish wafted into his nostrils. There was no way he could know whether it was a poison or a serum that could compel some sort of behavior from him, but with the matron watching him like a hawk, he had few options but to drink it. If only there was a distraction of some kind…

As if on cue, a student Harry could not identify came through the door, the chubby Gryffindor Harry knew from Astronomy, Herbology and History of Magic leaning heavily on his shoulder. The matron turned her head as the student helping the mousy brunette started speaking rapidly, and Harry took advantage of the moment to dump the contents of the cup onto his trousers, then pulled the blanket up to hide the growing off-green stain.

"Thank you ma'am," said Harry, has the nurse turned back towards him, placing the now-empty cup into her hand while making a face that looked like he was fighting the urge to vomit all over the matron's dress. "I might sick all over you," he added, retching, and the nurse hurriedly rose, clearly not wanting to be vomited on.

"I'll come back and check on you after I check on Mister Longbottom," declared the nurse, and Harry nodded, feigning weakness. Once she was out of earshot with her back turned, Harry made the _prana mudra_ and whispered "_creo corporem_", letting Astral power flow into his body, particularly into his leg, where it throbbed.

Harry clenched his jaw as he felt his bone start to knit back together; it was a deeply unpleasant sensation, like an itch deep within his flesh that he could not scratch, twinged with numb tingles and stabbing pain as severed nerves were re-attached and muscles fibers grew until they met, wrapped around and rejoined each other.

Still, it took about a minute for the agony to finally fade away; when press his hand firmly on his thigh to check whether the injury was truly gone, he felt no signs of even soreness, and he secretly smiled to himself, relieved to have mended his injury without any more risk to himself.

When the matron returned, having put the chubby brunette boy into a bed, Harry looked to her with hopeful eyes. "Can I go now, ma'am?" he asked.

"Not for a couple more hours, Mister Potter," said the matron, waving her wand and incanting something, before frowning. "Mister Potter, how is it your leg has completely healed in the space of the few minutes I was away tending to Mister Longbottom?"

"I don't know," lied the black-haired boy innocently. "I've always healed faster than most people," he added, deciding now was a good time to continue to build his cover with something that would sound innocent enough. "Even when Dudley would beat me every day, I would be all fine by the very next morning."

The motherly matron looked absolutely appalled at what she was hearing. "You're all right now, Mister Potter," she said, using as soothing a tone she could. "Who is Dudley character?"

"My cousin, ma'am," said Harry, fidgeting in the bed.

The school nurse's brow furrowed in a frown as she digested the information, and Harry sensed what had transpired during his Sorting had not made its way to the matron's ears.

"Mister Potter, would that explain the scars on your back?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, and he could see her frown deepen. "Is something wrong?"

"I'll need to have some words with Professor Dumbledore," said the Matron, "but otherwise, you're free to go, Mister Potter."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Harry, shucking off the covers and swinging his legs off the bed. Standing up, he took a step towards his bag, which was on a chair near the bed he was just in, put his right weight his right leg as he lifted his left for the next step, and immediately stumbled to a knee, letting out a low growl of pain.

"Mister Potter, are you hurt?" asked the matron, as she rushed over to Harry, concern clear in her voice.

"It hurts a bit when I put weight on it," Harry admitted through gritted teeth, slowly rising to limp over to his haversack over the matron's protests. Opening it, he dumped himself weakly into it, landing on the lift inside.

Finally out of the matron's sight, he allowed a smile to break across his lips. Quickly shimmying out of his still-damp trousers, he tossed them and his pants into the hamper where he kept his dirty clothes, changing into some fresh underwear and a pair of clean, untorn trousers before riding the lift back out of the haversack, grabbing his cane-shaped rod from where it hung from a hook on the mouth of the bag on his way up.

"Mister Potter," said the matron, as Harry ascended from his haversack. "Where did you go?"

"I wanted to change my trousers," Harry said, leaning heavily on his cane. "They were torn, bloody and I think I pissed them."

"Why do you have a cane?" the matron asked, suspicious of the boy's new walking stick.

"I always thought Dudley might cripple me one day, so I thought I'd be prepared," Harry lied. "May I go now?"

"You may, Mister Potter, but I want you to tell me if the pain gets worse."

"I will, ma'am," said the boy, smiling tightly before limping out of the Medical Wing.

He waited until he had turned the corner and was sure nobody was within sight before he gave the cane a twirl and spun around lightly on the balls of his feet, tipping an invisible hat like he was in a musical. Then, he was off to find an abandoned classroom; he had missed lunch, so he would need to have a quick meal, but after that, he still had a few hours to experiment with magic before he would need to be at the evening's Astronomy practicum.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **This is not a story about house points, and frankly, this version of Harry wouldn't care about them anyways, so I took the liberty of writing it mostly out of the story as it pertains to him. While it will be brought up a few times at critical junctures, it's more of a matter of flavor, because, let's face it, Harry doesn't about it, and this story is written almost entirely from his perspective.

Harry's not going to be a broom guy. Then again, he can already fly on his own anyways, through growing wings or manipulating air, so why would he care about brooms for flying besides the novelty?

If you want to review, please do so. If you don't but have questions, feel free to send me a private message. And if you don't feel like either, feel free to carry on with your life.

Thanks to Shinshikaizer for the original story treatment, and goalie12345 for copy-editing.


	17. Harry's Got Game

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 17: Harry's Got Game**

* * *

Checking his ice chests as he prepared breakfast Saturday morning, Harry had noted his reserve of fresh, uncured meats was starting to dwindle; if he did not restock his supply soon, he would be down to only canned meats and a few dry-cured hams before October was gone, and he was not the type of person to wait until the problem was upon him before he addressed it.

So now, he was at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, while the other students were having breakfast in the Great Hall. True, there had been a warning about the Forbidden Forest being just that, but given what he had been told about Hogwarts being the greatest magical school in the world, only to experience first-hand a Potions professor with no inclination to actually teach, a History professor who was completely oblivious to the going-ons in their classroom, a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who couldn't string together two coherent thoughts about the subject he was meant to be teaching, and a Flying instructor who had made no attempts to ensure his safety when his broom had taken off out of control, Harry was not exactly going to believe what the Hogwarts staff said on just the basis of their word.

Besides, if he found himself in any danger, he had his rod, the switchblade Jason had given him, and, if all else failed, a small arsenal of battle magic he could rely on.

Thus, Harry went into the Forbidden Forest in search of food sources, and he was not disappointed in what he found. Though he did not go deep into the woodland, staying within sight of the Forest's edge at all times, Harry had found both deer and rabbit plentiful during the two hours he spent in the thicket, along with all manners of vegetation, some he recognized but most of which he did not. Only then did he realize he had no idea what was actually edible amongst the flora he could not identify by sight, and so, he retrieved a Polaroid camera and began taking pictures, cataloging what he saw. At the end of the two hours, he had a stack of photographs and a realization he would need to learn how to butcher game.

Returning to his dormitory room, Harry went into his private library in his bag and sought out the sections on botany, 580 in the Dewey Decimal System, and fishing and hunting, 799, pulling the books from the shelves before taking them back to his desk, where he browsed them, trying to cross-reference the photos with entries in the books. Once he was through the photographs, it was onto the books on hunting and the butchery of game.

He finished making notes just around time for lunch, and he went back into his supplies to making himself a hearty meal; in the comfort and safety of his haversack, Harry felt secure enough to use his own magic, which worked wonders for both cooking and cleaning.

After his meal, he made his way into the Hufflepuff common room; he was probably already standing out enough by never being in the Great Hall during breakfast, lunch or dinner, and the last thing he wanted was for people to think he was an isolated loner, even if he was one.

Scanning the common room for a victim, Harry's eyes settled on moon-faced brunette who had turned away as soon as he had caught her staring; with more confidence than he really felt, he sauntered over to where she sat by a sofa by the wall.

"Hey," he said, as charming a smile as he could manage pasted on his face. "I'm Harry Potter."

The girl swallowed nervously as she looked up at the raven-haired boys standing over her, his emerald green eyes seeming to pierce her soul. "I know," she giggled.

"I didn't quite catch your name on the first night, when we were introduced," the boy said, smile still on his lips as he extended a hand.

"I'm Megan Jones," she said, swallowing again as she extended her hand in kind, and Harry took it in his, leaning over to kiss the air above the back of it, eyes watching as blood rapidly rushed to her cheeks.

"May I join you?" asked the boy, and once the moon-faced girl nodded and scooted over on the sofa to make room, he plopped himself down into the space she had made. "Are you busy?"

"No, I was just daydreaming," the girl admitted, flushing again.

"You want to play something, then?" Harry asked.

"Like what?"

"_Battleship_?"

"I love _Battleship_," gushed the girl, and Harry smiled again, reaching into his haversack to pull out the freshly-unwrapped box that contained the game he had mentioned. Opening the box, he passed one of the plastic cases to the girl, who took it with a smile and opened it like she had done it a dozen times before; as she set up the pieces on her board, Harry did the same, his eyes never quite leaving her face as he tried to read her expression.

It took them a few moments to complete the preparation for the game; then, as the girl looked up to meet his eyes, Harry said, "Ladies first."

"Oh, okay," the girl said, brushing with a lock of hair back behind her ear. "Uh… H-8?"

"Miss. F-5."

"Miss. C-4."

"Hit. D-3."

**~ooOoo~**

Though he did not win the game, Harry came out ahead nonetheless; by the time his game with the brunette concluded, a crowd had gathered around the pair, watching them play, students from normal families explaining the rules of the game to those unfamiliar with it.

"Good game," said Harry, extending a hand, and the moon-faced girl shook it. Looking up, he started as though it was the first he had noticed the gathered crowd. "Wasn't expecting an audience. You all want to play something?"

"_Battleship_'s for two players," protested a voice in the crowd of Hufflepuffs.

"True," Harry said, "but I also have _Cluedo_ and _Pictionary_."

Murmurs rippled through the Hufflepuffs as those who knew had to explain to those who didn't know what those games were. Even as they talked, Harry retrieved the two additional games from his haversack, placing them out on the coffee table by the sofa where he was sitting.

"_Cluedo_ can have up to six players," Harry said. "_Pictionary_ works best with four teams of two, but can take a couple more teams, and _Battleship_'s for two." Then, noticing there were more than sixteen people gathered around, he pulled the deck of cards he kept out of his pocket and added, "For everybody else who doesn't want to just observe, I've got a pack of cards, and we can blackjack or poker."

The Hufflepuffs quickly began to divide themselves into groups over which games they wanted to play or try, and Harry found himself with a group of a half-dozen mostly older students, though the girl he had played _Battleship_ with was among their numbers.

"All right, let's play blackjack," said Harry, as he shuffled the cards. "Rules are simple: try to get as close to twenty-one as possible without going over. Number cards are their value, face cards are worth ten, and aces are worth one or eleven, your choice. Everybody starts with two cards; me, being the dealer, will have one card facing up; on your turn, you can choose to take a card or not to take a card. Once everybody has either gone over twenty-one or decided they've gotten as close as they comfortably can, the dealer turns the face-down card over, and if the amount is less than seventeen, the dealer will have to take cards until they have seventeen or more. Players win if they get closer to twenty-one than the dealer, or if the dealer goes over twenty-one.

"Any questions?"

**~ooOoo~**

When the Hufflepuffs finally broke from their games, it was just before dinner. From the chatter, Harry surmised they had mostly enjoyed the experience; several older students even suggested their friends in other houses might enjoy playing, and Harry had agreed, suggesting they bring their friends the following day to an abandoned classroom with a number he'd post on the inside of the Hufflepuff common room's door right before lunch time. Some of the Hufflepuffs had suggested the Great Hall, but Harry had shot down the idea; he knew, at some point, the card games would end in gambling, and he did not want the staff of Hogwarts catching wind of that until as late as possible.

After cooking and eating a meal in his haversack, Harry had found the least clean abandoned classroom to develop his own magic in; having spent the better part of the week experimenting with _alter self_, he decided to spend the evening practicing his battle magic and had chose the insect-infested classroom specifically for the reason, as some of his combat-oriented spells required targets to use.

Without any material components at his disposal, Harry's battle magic was restricted to _Agannazar's scorcher_, _burning hands_, _magic missile_, _shield_, and _shocking grasp_; he had decided early in his self-training not to become completely focused on one type of magic, and using necromancy had made him feel physically unwell, so his knowledge of combat spells were limited to elemental magic and illusions, and his experiences with nearly burning down Bourne's Comics and Games had left him wary of using too many spells with an area of effect.

Besides, he liked to think he was clever enough to find ways to use his non-combat spells for battle when a fight inevitably rolled along.

But for now, the bugs would make for adequate targets for the magic he would be practicing.

Putting in his earbuds, with LL Cool J's _Mama Said Knock You Out_ album in his Discman, Harry got to work. It never failed to get him in the mood for something aggressive.

**~ooOoo~**

Harry returned to the Forbidden Forest on Sunday morning with a plan of attack, but quickly discovered the plan to just attack didn't quite work. He had been prepared to hunt with magic, but ultimately, hunting with magic was a tragically bad idea; any magic he knew required incantations to cast, and doing so inevitably aroused the suspicions of the prey he hunted, sending them scurrying away as soon as he began chanting, leaving him with nothing more than a sense of failure.

His solution to that had been creating metal spears from the earth and trying to throw them at his prey, but that quickly proved useless as he simply lacked the skill to hit a target with a thrown projectile of the sort.

Nonetheless, the day had not been for naught; while he caught no game, he had managed to forage some wild plants and fungi, including some peppers he could not identify and a number of edible ferns and greens. Taking them back to his room, he strung them up to dry.

Roger was nowhere to be seen, but on Harry's bed as a package addressed to "Harry Potter" in a feminine hand; on top of it was a letter, attached by Scotch tape, and he carefully opened it with his knife to read the contents.

Though the letter had been signed "Elizabeth Granger", Harry would recognize Karen's handwriting anywhere, and he hurriedly opened the box, revealing two large bags of dried plant buds, far more than he had expected Jason to send him, along with a small packet of seeds, an instructional manual on how to grow them and a pad of rolling paper. The letter had mentioned one hundred grams, but the bags were far larger than he had expected.

Carefully, Harry opened one of the bags, scooping out a handful of buds into a smaller Ziploc, before resealing both. Cautiously, he placed to two larger bags, along with the seeds and the manual, in his haversack, then pocketed the Ziploc, not knowing when he would be seeing the chubby, anxiety-ridden boy again.

But first, lunch.

**~ooOoo~**

He had not expected the turnout.

When the older Hufflepuff students had mentioned their friends from other houses might be interested in joining in on the fun, Harry had thought only a smattering of students would show, but the abandoned classroom he had chosen, large as it was, still had enough students in yellow and black, blue and bronze, and red and gold to feel cozy. The complete absence of green and silver uniforms told him Slytherins had either deigned themselves above games, or just didn't have friends outside their own house.

With the numbers present, Harry had to bring out all of his board games and chose to rely on students from normal families with knowledge of how to play the games to teach those who wanted to learn them, while he once again set up a game of blackjack for the rest of those who wanted to play something but did not have a board game available for them, or were waiting for a spot in one of the games to open up. Besides, dealing blackjack gave him a chance to practice his false shuffling and false dealing, though he had made it clear that, while he was the dealer, there would be no betting on the game, implying that those who played without him could very well gamble amongst themselves.

After a couple hours, some of the players made known their desire to play for money, and Harry handed over the deck of card and the dealer responsibility to an older Ravenclaw, giving him an opportunity to walk amongst the gather students and observe those playing and those watching the games in play.

It was during his walkthrough that he found himself being pulled aside by a pretty Asian girl in the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw, her brow furrowed in irritation as she pressed him against a wall, her forearm shoved into his collar bones.

"Potter, do you have a problem with me?" she asked.

"Pardon me?" Harry asked, confused.

"Why did you send Ron Weasley after me?"

"Fuckin' who?"

"Ron Weasley."

"No, I mean, what does he look like? I don't really learn people's names 'less they're friends."

"He's not your friend?"

"Who?"

"Ginger? Dumb look on his face?"

"Him? I think that's A.D.D., but right annoying, ain't he?"

"Yes! Why did you send him after me? What's your problem with me?"

"Come again?"

"Weasley's been pestering me to teach him _xiangqi_! Even after I told him I don't know how!"

"Well, shit, sorry 'bout that," Harry said, feeling somewhat remorseful; he had not intended to inflict the red-haired irritant on somebody else. "Didn't even know you existed."

"Wait, it wasn't personal?" asked the girl, confused, and Harry felt some of the pressure leave his chest.

"God no," said Harry. "I wouldn't inflict that bakebrain on my worst enemy."

"Then why has he been saying you want me to teach him _xiangqi_?"

"That? I was trying to get rid of him! He was talking about chess, so I told him I'd play him if he learned _xiangqi_."

"And, naturally, he'd come to me and ask."

"Who are you, anyways?"

The girl finally released Harry, and he straightened his hoodie. "Cho Chang," she said, and the two shook hands.

"Harry Potter," said the black-haired boy.

"I know who you are," said the girl.

"So, are you Korean, Chinese, Japanese, or are they who had you really racist?" Harry asked.

"What?" demanded the girl, shoving the boy back against the wall, suddenly very angry.

"'Chang' is a Korean surname, but the only Korean given names that I'm familiar with that includes a 'Cho' fragment are '_Cho-a_', '_Chohui_', '_Cho-rong_' and '_Chorong_'," Harry said; he had done the research years ago when he was making one of his first _Shadowrun_ characters. "However, 'Chang' could be a corruption of the Cantonese surname '_Cheung_' yet isn't a Mandarin surname, but 'Cho' is not a Cantonese given name, while '_Cho_' _is_ a Japanese given name meaning 'butterfly', but 'Chang' _is not_ a Japanese surname."

"How do you know all this?" asked the girl.

"Research, long, long time ago, for a game I was playing," Harry said with a shrug.

The girl sighed. "My name is _Zhang Qiu_, but everybody kept butchering it, so I gave up."

"_Nǐ shuō zhōngwén ma_?" asked Harry, slipping into Mandarin Chinese with one of the few phrases he had learned from Karen when she had been learning the language for an audition.

The girl blinked in surprise, releasing her hold on him. "_Yī diǎndiǎn. Nǐ ne?_"

"_Suì suì_," Harry said, slipping into Cantonese, something Jason had answered in when Karen had practiced with him; when the girl's eyes betrayed her lack of understanding, he added, in English, "That was Cantonese for 'a little bit'."

"So, Weasley's been bugging me to teach him _xiangqi_," said the girl again. "I've told him I don't know how, but he won't listen."

"You could suggest I teach him, since I told him I'd play him," said Harry.

The girl blinked. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"He was probably annoying you to bits, Ms. _Zhang_."

"But what are you going to do when he asks you to teach him?"

"I'll lie," Harry said, cracking a smile. "He calls it, what, 'Shankey'?"

"Yeah, he calls it that."

"First, I'll tell him I told him I'd play him in _janggi_, Korean chess," Harry said. "Then, if he comes back and asks me to teach him, I'd ask if he wants the person who is going to play him to teach him and possibly hold him back."

"How are you a Hufflepuff?"

"How am I not?"

"Hufflepuffs are supposed to be hard-working and loyal. _Slytherins_ are cunning."

"What, you think I didn't put in work to come up with these contingencies?"

"Huh?"

"And if the bakebrain asks you to teach him _janggi_, tell him you're Chinese, not Korean, and then call him a racist."

"What?"

"That'll set him on his back foot, which should you give you enough time to make all kinds of accusations at him and make him leave you alone for good."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Potter, you're in the wrong house."

Harry shrugged.

**~ooOoo~**

By the time the dinner rolled around, the sentiment in the abandoned classroom was fairly clear: the Hogwarts students enjoyed it, as Harry had expected, and all agreed it should be something that happened every week, on Saturday _and_ Sunday. Against the popular opinion, Harry could only visibly protest, but inside, he patted himself on the back.

True, he might only really have a friend in Hermione, but if people looked or asked, he could point to these soon-to-be weekly meetings as proof that he wasn't isolating himself, even if proximity did not equate to affection in truth. He could be like Gatsby, the host of great parties who seemed like he was surrounded by friends, even when, in truth, he was the loneliest man in the world waiting for his one true love.

Harry was willing to put money on the conspiracy against him having never read that book.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Harry Potter, ignoring rules, building his cover and establishing contacts.

Being of Chinese heritage, Cho Chang's name has always bothered me; it was as though Rowling took a couple Chinese-sounding syllables and smashed them together. She might as well as called her "Ching Chong Chinaman" with her disrespected towards the entire culture.

As a former GM, I made a conscious decision to have Harry decide to not GM for a bunch of youths, hence why he chose board and card games instead. GMing for children and teenagers, particularly the entitled bunch who would have attended Hogwarts, is always a pain the ass.

Review, PM, etc. You've got your ideas, I've got mine, and I'm not going to change chapters I've already written and are just waiting to upload simply to suit your desires, but aside from that, hey, let's talk. What's the worst that can happen, I ignore you, you think I'm an idiot?

Usual credits to Shinshikaizer (treatment) and goalie12345 (editing).


	18. Duel Monster

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

* * *

**Chapter 18: Duel Monster**

Double Defense Against the Dark Arts had been a complete waste of time, as Harry had expected when he walked into the class on Monday morning; Quirrell once again stuttered his way through the lesson, which seemed to cover just about anything except dark arts.

After that was Herbology, and Harry braced himself for the coming headache, but to his luck, the redhead nuisance arrived to class late. Of course, that also meant the chubby boy who was his friend was also late, which made passing him a message to meet him after class difficult.

Still, a single-session class was only forty-five minutes long, and before long, Harry found himself being annoyed by the redhead.

"Teach me to play Shankey," the ginger said.

"What?"

"Shankey. Teach me!"

"What the fuck is 'Shankey'?" asked Harry, playing stupid.

"Chinese Chess! You said you'd play me if I learned to play it!"

"No, I said _janggi_, which is Korean Chess," lied Harry. "What are you, a racist? Do you think all East Asian people look the same too?"

"What? No! So, teach me Ganjy!"

"Do you really want me, who is going to play you, to teach you? What if I teach you a bunch of traps and then take advantage of them when we play?"

The redhead's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he considered the idea. Then, he nodded to himself in satisfaction, declaring, "I'm going to learn Ganjy and then beat you, Harry!"

With that, he departed, almost dragging his mousy friend with him by sheer gravity, but Harry caught the chubby boy by the shoulder before he could depart. "We've got business, you and I," he said, and the chubby boy swallowed nervously.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he apologized, his face in a state of near panic.

"Relax," said the black-haired boy. "It's not about that. It's about that thing you asked me about last week."

"Oh."

"Come on, walk with me."

Together, the two first-year boys walked down the hall, seemingly purposelessly, until Harry hanged a corner and pulled his accomplice into an empty, abandoned classroom.

Reaching into his pocket, Harry pulled forth the Ziploc bag, setting it down on a desk, before nodding at the boy across from him. "Pay attention, I'm only going to show you this once."

Opening the bag, Harry took out one of the buds and crumbled it into small bits into a piece of rolling paper, which he then rolled into a tight spliff.

"Hold this in your mouth," said Harry, and Neville let him stick the cigarette between his lips. Striking a match he had taken from Transfiguration and kept, he lit the spliff. "All right, now inhale the smoke."

"What?" asked the boy, surprised.

"You heard me," Harry said. "Inhale the smoke."

The boy did as he instructed, eyes widening as he seemed to hold his breath. Then, he suddenly pulled the lit cigarette from his lips, coughing violently.

"All right," said Harry. "Now inhale, exhale, and repeat it until the entire thing's been smoked."

The boy did as instructed, and though the two stood in the empty classroom in silence, Harry could see he had become more calm as he reached the end of the cigarette.

"I feel... good," drawled the boy, as he finished the last of the joint. "What is this?"

"It has a lot of names," said Harry, as he put down the Ziploc bag and the rolling paper in front of the boy. "Cannabis, marijuana, Mary Jane, skunk, pot, weed… All you need to know is it's all natural, and you can have the rest of this."

"Thanks, Harry," said the boy, smiling widely.

"I didn't catch your name the first time," Harry said, as he shook the boy's hand.

"Neville Longbottom," the boy said, stoned and with not a care in the world. "Neville's fine."

"All right, Neville," said Harry, as he pulled his hand from Neville's. "I'll be seeing you."

"See you later," Neville called after Harry, as he left the room.

**~ooOoo~**

Harry had revised for Transfiguration before lunch, which was right before Transfiguration, but the revision had no helped. By the end of the lesson, he was the only one in the combined class who had made no progress on the turning a match into a needle, and Malfoy mocked him from a distance.

Charms with Slytherins was next, and it during this second lesson that the tiny professor decided it as time for his students to try learning their first charm, the Wand-Lighting Charm, _lumos_. Yet, despite the simple wand movement and the nearly-impossible-to-mangle incantation, Harry once again was the only student incapable of getting the tip of his wand to even light up a little bit.

By the end of the lesson, Malfoy was openly mocking him, yet, Harry didn't care one bit; after all, he wasn't going to bark at a dog on a chain just because the dog was barking at him first.

Of course, this didn't last; once class was dismissed, Harry as packed his belongings as always, Malfoy came within a few steps, his two big goons at his flanks, and started needling Harry.

"You're a squib, Potter," said the towhead, a mocking laugh in his voice. "It's a shame House Potter will end with you."

"Blow it outcha hoop, Malfoy," Harry said lightly, shrugging. Again, barking dog.

"What?" asked the boy with the bleach-blonde hair.

"Slot off, frag-face," Harry said, changing his words but not his sentiment.

"What?"

"I said, 'piss off, you twat-waffle'."

As the words left Harry's lip, he could judge by the reaction of Malfoy's face that he might have taken it a step too far, even if his tone had been light.

"Potter, I challenge you to a Wizard's duel!" snarled the Slytherin. "Midnight tonight! Wands only! No contact!"

The students who were still in the process of packing their things or leaving the room suddenly stopped short, and Harry could tell the situation had escalated in a way he hadn't foreseen; with the exception of Malfoy and his minions, the only students who remained were Hufflepuffs, who were always liable to stay and help their friends, while Slytherins were long gone, having went off to pursue their own goals, as was their wont.

Still, barking dogs.

"So, you're challenging me, somebody you're insulting for not being able to do magic, to a duel where you can only use magic?" Harry asked, and Malfoy scowled. "What are you, a coward?"

Malfoy snarled and started towards Harry, but stopped himself. "You would say that, you filthy squib."

"And why at midnight, after curfew?" asked Harry. "Why not now, in front of witnesses? Or are you scared that little ol' me, who can't even do magic according to you, will beat you, and you don't want people to see it?"

Malfoy's expression twisted quickly from scorn to anger and then confusion, then back to anger. "Fine, we can do it right here, right now!"

"With magic? You might as well just have your heavies beat me up, since we clearly know I can't do any magic all, as this lesson has demonstrated. I mean, why else would you be mocking me? Besides my dead parents, I mean; you do love insulting me about that."

That seemed to be all the invitation Malfoy needed, and he nodded to his minions. "Crabbe. Goyle."

"Are you sure you want this?" asked Harry, leaning heavily on his cane as the two big oafs slowly lumbered towards him. "Three of you, against somebody who needs a cane to walk right?"

Malfoy's smug smile was all Harry needed to see to have an answer.

"Remember: you wanted for this."

The-Boy-Who-Lived flipped his cane nimbly, catching it by the straight end. Seizing it with both hands, he stepped forward and swung the crook of it hard at the nearest of the two goons.

Gidgee is one of the hardest woods in the world.

The big boy's knee made a sickening crunching sound as the diamond-cored wood connected and reduced it to bone fragments. Suddenly with only one leg, he toppled forward, and the boy with the cane let the momentum of his swing spin his body, putting him in line with a second swing that connected solidly with the other goon's throat, sending him crumpling to the ground, clutching at his neck and fighting to breathe, his larynx cracked. Completing the turn, the green-eyed brought his cane smashing down across the first boy's jaw, knocking him out cold.

"You'll want to get him to hospital in about seven minutes, or he'll suffocate," said The-Boy-Who-Lived lightly, to no one in particular.

Casually hanging his cane on the side of the desk where his belongings lay, Harry drew his wand and pointed it at the blonde, who flinched. Pulling his hand back over his shoulder, he whipped it forward, flinging his length of wood towards the Slytherin. "Think fast."

Dumbly, the towhead caught the flying object, which gave The-Boy-Who-Lived all the time he needed to cross the distance between them in a dead sprint, cane firmly in hand. Surprised, the Slytherin stumbled a step backwards, and his assailant took advantage, shoving him with a hand and knocking the already off-balance Slytherin to the floor, wands clattering onto the flagstone. Before he could scramble backwards or sit up, the Hufflepuff straddled his chest, placing the cane across his neck and pressing it against the prone boy's Adam's apple before passing Astral energy through it.

"The point of a duel is to win," he said, sitting with his full weight on the blonde's stomach. "Magic or not, if you lose, you die, so what does it matter if it's a Wizard's duel?"

Leaning forward, the raven-haired boy spoke, a sharp edge in his voice, which he kept low as he looked directly into the eyes of the boy who had been mocking him. "Did you think I'd just take it from you because I'm in Hufflepuff?" he said, pure malevolence barely contained in his voice, as the blonde tried and failed to move the cane from where it pressed into his throat, making it hard for him to breathe. "Don't you know badgers fear nothing?

"I know where you eat. I know where you sleep, which classes you have, when you have them, where you live during holiday. Your Head of House can't protect you. Your father can't save you. You cry to them, I'll make you disappear forever, and all you'll be is one of the mysteries of Hogwarts, a cautionary tale of just what happens when you cross The-Boy-Who-Lives."

His lips parted into a twisted, menacing smile, one he hoped resembled the Joker's, as he moved his face within an inch of the blonde's wide, terrified eyes, speaking in a whisper so soft, only the towhead could hear. "Did you really believe that fool Potter boy just happened to survive that night in Godric's Hollow?

"Try to get me expelled and I'll burn your house down with your entire family in it, and then I'll hunt down your family tree and burn them out until not even roots are left.

"I'm not to be fucked with. Understood?"

Panicked, the blonde nodded as vigorously as the cane in his throat allowed him to, and the raven-haired Hufflepuff grasped it with one hand, flushing the Astral energy from it before lifting from his victim. Standing, the raven-haired boy stepped over the prone boy, then pivoted at the hips, swinging the flat of the crook of the cane into the side of the Slytherin's head like a golf club, careful not to crush his skull when rendering him unconscious. Twirling the cane in one hand, he surveyed the room, and the Hufflepuffs erupted into applause.

"Somebody really should get these boys to hospital before they die," said The-Boy-Who-Lived, indicating the boy whose larynx he had crushed. "I'm going to make myself scarce, so do try to keep my name out of it, all right?"

The other Hufflepuffs were as good as their house was reputed, quickly organizing to get help their housemate, working together to move the three unconscious Slytherins even as The-Boy-Who-Lived slipped away from the classroom.

**~ooOoo~**

Harry walked down the hall briskly, quickly leaving the Charms classroom behind him. He had been lucky that the classroom was not in use for the rest of the day; in fact, now that he thought about it, he had a hunch that each subject and year had its own classroom, which explained why he never met any students from different years when he arrived to a classroom early.

In truth, he felt deeply uncomfortable with the experience; he had never stood up to a bully before, and while he had expected the red-hot rage that had always rushed through him whenever Dudley savaged him physically or verbally, what he had instead felt was a white-cold, calm fury that filled his head and made him see things clearly. Threatening Malfoy had been a gamble, but as soon as he was channeling his inner Big Bad Evil Guy, something he hadn't done in the two years since the last time he had been the dungeon master to a _Dungeons and Dragons_ campaign, it felt right, the "right" way to make Malfoy believe he was not who he seemed to be, to make him question whether You-Know-Who had really been defeated by The-Boy-Who-Lived or it had been a huge ploy to put the "forces of Light" at ease, something he knew the Slytherin could not put past the Dark Lord. It was who he needed to be in the moment, and so, that was who he was; in a sense, he wasn't unlike a certain fictional Tom.

Still, it was not an experience he relished, nor it one he sought to repeat, and so he hoped the exchange with Malfoy would be the last of its kind.

**~ooOoo~**

Tuesday morning, a visibly relaxed and confident Neville Longbottom strode into the greenhouse for Double Herbology without the redhead and came straight to Harry, who was reading a book, as per usual.

"I'm almost through the skunk," drawled Neville, running his fingers through his uncombed brown hair. "You got more?'

"Meet me in front of the library after your next class, and we'll talk about it," Harry said, and Neville nodded his understanding before smiling and giving a tidily-dressed girl with her brown hair in pigtails a thumbs up. "New friend?"

"Yeah, that's Fay," said Neville, grinning widely. "She's cool; we smoked together last night, and then again this morning."

"She's got good taste."

"Yeah!"

"So, where's the ginger fragface?"

"Ron? Probably sleeping. Kept saying 'five more minutes', so I just left him."

"Smart move."

"I know, right?"

"All right, I think your lady friend wants to talk to you. I'll see you later."

**~ooOoo~**

Harry did not have to wait long in front of the library for Neville; once again, he was accompanied by his lady friend.

"Hey Harry, this is Fay," said Neville, as his two friends met up close for the first time.

"Pleasure," said Harry, shaking the girl's hand. "Longbottom tells me you're cool."

"Damn right, I am," said the girl, grinning as she clapped Harry on the shoulder. "So, how're we going to do this?"

"We'll use an abandoned classroom, like last time," Neville declared, and Harry nodded, somewhat relieved to see that the previously mousy boy had found some confidence in himself, even if it was chemically assisted, and would thus likely be more liable to leave him alone in the future.

It did not take long for the trio to find an abandoned classroom a few floors up, and once they were inside, Harry excused himself for a moment, going into his haversack to retrieve the big bags of dried buds and the rest of the rolling paper.

Returning, he found Neville and his friend chatting easily, and he placed the two bags on a desk.

"That's a lot of skunk," Neville said, eyes wide in wonder.

"Hey, I didn't say I was giving it to you," Harry said, and Neville nodded with a smile.

"How much?" asked Neville's friend.

"This about a hundred grams, and this is some potent stuff," Harry said. "Friend of mine who got it for me said it cost him forty-five pounds a gram, and the exchange rate at Gringotts is five pounds to the gold piece, so that'd be, what, nine hundred gold pieces?"

"We can't afford that much," the girl protested, and Harry held up a hand, stopping her before she could continue.

"Luckily, we're not using that exchange rate, because that's just stupid," the Hufflepuff said, and the two Gryffindors look relieved. "I'll sell you these two bags for just twenty-five gold pieces."

"That's a huge difference," the girl observed. "How are you making up a profit?"

"You're clever," Harry said, and the girl beamed. "Gringotts is pretty damn bad at maths and economics. We'll leave it at that."

"We'll take it," Neville said, with a wide grin, and quickly, money exchanged hands between the Gryffindor and the Hufflepuff.

"A pleasure, Longbottom," said The-Boy-Who-Lived.

"Join us for a smoke?" Neville asked, as he retrieved a bud from the bag

"Naw, I never get high on my own supply," Harry said. "Good you're feeling more relaxed, though. Got plans?"

"Yeah, I think I'm going to start a garden," said the Gryffindor boy, sprinkling a bud into a leaf of paper, while the Gryffindor girl watched intently. "Got a garden back home, and I enjoyed that."

"I've actually got some seeds in my bag," Harry said, patting his haversack. "Got a manual on how to grow the stuff too."

"You do? Will you sell it to me?"

"Sure, let me get them."

Harry returned a moment later with the packet of seeds and manual Jason had sent him, placing them on the table between himself and the Gryffindors passing a spliff between themselves.

"So, how much?" Neville asked.

"If you grow enough, are you planning to sell your product here at Hogwarts?"

"Maybe, why?"

"How about this: if you do, I'll take a twenty percent cut of your profits, but nothing up front," suggested the raven-haired boy.

The Gryffindor boy thought about it for a moment, then stuck out his hand, and the two boys shook on the deal.

"By the way, you can actually cook this stuff into food and drink, too," said Harry, and thus, the conversation turned to space cakes and cannibis tinctures.

**~ooOoo~**

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was perplexed, something he hadn't been in a very long time.

Without the looming threat of the House Cup hanging over their collective heads, the Ravenclaws had thrown caution to the wind, damaging and destroy more school property with their experiments and tests in a single week than the entire student body had the previous year. Even the house elves on hand could barely keep up with the messes being created, and the cost of equipment lost to their undertakings were already starting to add up in ways he had never imagined possible, and even the usually mild-mannered Hufflepuffs were becoming strident in their defense of each other when Slytherins harassed them.

Just Friday night, Poppy had given him a piece of her mind about young Harry Potter's living situation and the scars she had found on his back, no doubt from the beatings his cousin had given him every day, which had no doubt caused his magical core to react by speeding his recovery to something unknown even in the magical world. The admonishment had been unpleasant, especially when he had been unable to placate the matron with reassurances in his usual soothing tones.

Then, there were the accounts from Filius and Minerva, both who had reported young Harry was the least of his peers; even while the rest of his classmates had managed some progress in their first spells, Harry had shown no signs of being able to use even the most basic of magic. Ordinarily, lessons would employ the time-honored traditions of waiting for every student to master a spell before moving on to the next, but Harry had made no progress from his first day to his most recent, almost like his magical core had been sealed away, and Filius and Minerva had been forced to continue the lessons, lest the first year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs fall completely behind the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. Yet, the rumors Harry was a squib could not be true, else Hogwarts would not have sent him an acceptance letter.

Worse, though, was the incident of Harry with the broom. Now, the boy would never play quidditch like his father had played, and it was a lost connection, one he could never be able to use to make the boy want to be James.

On the other hand, he had heard from Molly Weasley that Ron had become friends with Harry, who was teaching him to play Chinese chess. With luck, Ron would guide Harry back to the Light and the Gryffindor way.

Some of that was already in play; just last night, he had received reports Draco Malfoy, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe had ended up in the hospital wing. Though all three Slytherins were tight-lipped about what had sent them there, young Mr. Crabbe with a crushed windpipe and the younger Goyle with a shattered knee, but rumor floating around Hogwarts was there had been a fight between the three and Harry, and it was this news Dumbledore welcomed like a drowning man would a life preserver. Harry was embroiled in a feud with the son of a known Death Eater, and that was the first step of ensuring he would fight for the Light. Even if he was a Hufflepuff, he could be made to follow the Gryffindor way.

Good too was that he was connecting with the other students at Hogwarts; word was Harry had already created a new club that included students from each house save Slytherin, and he would need to treasure those kinds of friendships in the future if he was to fulfill his Destiny.

Best of all was that young Harry excelled at Potions despite Severus' animosity; it made him so much like his mother, and Dumbledore smiled to himself, knowing he would use this to make the boy yearn for the family he never knew. It was a shame the Hufflepuffs remained adamant about remaining out of the competition for the House Cup; by doing so, they had stripped Severus of one of his biggest tools for tormenting young Harry, who only did enough to warrant the taking of points and not enough to be given detention.

At his desk, Dumbledore rewarded himself with a lemon drop and allowed himself a victorious smile. Young Harry Potter, as cunning as he thought himself, was no match for a true wizard's mastery of the game.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** More of Harry's darker impulses on full display. He has a tendency to become whoever he needs to be in the moment to see things through, not unlike a certain other Tom R. And no, not Riddle, either. That's a literary and cinematic reference for you; the book was released in 1955, and the first film adaptation in 1960, albeit a French-Italian production, though it was later adapted again, this time in an American production, in 1999. Let it never be said that this Harry isn't cultured.

Funny how an unhealthy rivalry between two houses is considered a good thing by so much of a society of supposedly-enlightened people, even when it turns violent. It's almost like they're still stuck in the age of vendettas and blood feuds...

In regards to tone, remember that this Harry is heavily influenced by cyberpunk, given his love of reading and _Shadowrun_; this isn't the normal Harry Potter story, but one with more of a dungeon punk attitude about his end to the story and the world. There's violence, there's sex, there's drugs, there's terrible people, and Harry is absolutely going to be one of them and be involved with all of them; hell, he's probably going to be worse than most of the people around him simply because of who he is and what he's been through. He's ultimately a consequentialist, which means he's perfectly capable of doing whatever he feels he needs to and then justifying it to himself as getting the result that's for the best.

Dunbar is going to be a recurring supporting character, much like Longbottom. Yes, I understand this is a wide departure of character for her, but I want Longbottom to have a cool tomboy friend to smoke with who is also one of the guys, and she fits the bill better than her unnamed friend or Kellah of Gryffindor. Plus, I rarely see her used in most other fanfiction, so I figured it'd be a nice break from tradition.

No, Harry does not actually walk with a limp; he's simply faking a psychosomatic limp for the benefit of being able to have his immovable rod-cane on hand all the time.

Dumbledore is meant to be a scheming version of the character who isn't nearly as smart as he thinks he is; his multitude of schemes is supposed to contrast with the reality of who Harry actually is. Heaping expectations and making a plan relying on somebody you hardly know is not really a good way to plan any operation of any sort, which has always struck me as weird for a supposed genius; if Dumbledore hadn't been oddly accurate (for no good reason besides plot convenience, I might add), his plans in the original stories would have went pretty tits-up. He's less scheming!manipulative!Dumbledore and more delusional!incompetent!Dumbledore.

Same usual thing regarding reviews and messages. I like talking to you people about my work, even when you criticize it. Just not when you do so anonymously, because that just makes me think you're a coward who is hiding behind anonymity, or when I can't understand what you're saying because of bad writing skills, because that's just incomprehensible.

Credit to Shinshikaizer and goalie12345. You both know what you did. No, you don't need to sit in the corner.


	19. Baptism by Fire

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 19: Baptism by Fire**

* * *

Life at Hogwarts quickly fell into a rhythm. Like clockwork, Harry was up and out of bed at five every morning and on the grounds by six for his morning exercise regimen, featuring calisthenics and a mile run; on days where it rained, he did his calisthenics in an abandoned classroom and ran the mile through the empty morning hallways, and it was so early no staff or prefect told him "no running in the halls". A cold shower followed, then two hours of independent study to stay on par with students attending normal schools; Monday was for maths, Tuesday for science, Wednesday for English, Thursday for History and Friday for Geography, while he used those hours on the weekends to further experiment with his own magic.

Class would then follow, either for a half or the full day; between classes, he would meet with Hermione, who he noticed seemed to have no other friends besides himself, and revise for the rest of the day's lessons; on days where they only had lessons in the morning, they instead revised for the next day's. Lunch followed, and then either class, or Harry would revise by himself or use the resources in the school library to research why he remained unable to use the magic taught at Hogwarts, making him a regular at the library and a favorite of the stern librarian for his proper use of library etiquette.

Unfortunately, he could only stand a couple hours of fruitless research before he would be frustrated by the complete lack of information on his condition; then, it was dinner and experimenting with his own magic in an abandoned classroom in some order, followed by more research and development in his own magic. Except for Friday, when he had the double Astronomy practicum at night, he would do his evening exercise regimen by twenty-thirty, followed by another cold shower, before being in bed by twenty-one hundred; only on Fridays did that differ, when his night-time routine was delayed to twenty-one fifteen.

On the weekends, he spent mornings foraging and hunting in the Forbidden Forest with mixed success; he had yet to catch any game, but his throwing aim was getting better, and he had managed to forage various plants that he could use as food, some of which he had already begun to use to supplement his diet, though he was also starting in on the cured hams for meat. Following the lunch break, he would set up shop in an abandoned classroom and host the gaming club; with the limited supplies of board games, Harry had started handing out several packets of playing cards at the beginning of each club meeting and allowed those in the club to choose to play with the cards how they wished, though he was almost certain there were members who were already gambling with cards; he kept himself clean and away from anything involving money, instead serving as the dealer in games of blackjack and poker, even as the students present started playing other card games.

Neville and his lady friend often came to the club meetings, though the two rarely played, preferring instead to watch and laugh, obviously baked out of their minds. The ginger, on the other hand, came often as well, usually harassing Harry with questions or inane talk, and it was something he continued to do even outside of the club; Harry managed him like a bird, sending him from one distraction to the next whenever he could, but ultimately, the ginger always came back like a bad rash.

That was life at Hogwarts for the first two months.

**~ooOoo~**

When Hermione did not show up to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry was worried, so at the end of the lesson, he asked one of her Ravenclaw classmates, a boy he recognized from the gaming club who he had noticed was using odds-based stratagems when they played poker together.

"It was Weasley," the boy told him. "Hermione was trying to help him with the Levitation Charm, and he got mad because he's slow as dirt and couldn't do it."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Ginger prat who keeps harassing you during gaming club?"

"Oh, that bakebrain," said Harry, and the Ravenclaw cocked his head to the side, clearly curious about what Harry had just said. "Please continue."

"So, when class ends, Weasley's talking to Longbottom, and he says, 'It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare.'. Apparently, Granger overheard, and she ran off, crying."

"Well, let it never be said that he's not a right cunt," spat Harry, irritation rising up in his chest. His stalker had just hurt the one person he was closest to at Hogwarts, and he would have to do something about it.

For the first time in a while, Harry revised for Potions by himself; he thought Hermione might appreciate a little time alone to get collect her thoughts and strengthen her resolve. However, when she failed to show up for double Potions, Harry realized he had grossly overestimated her inner strength and resolved to find her once the lesson was over.

As he left to Potions classroom, Harry overheard one Ravenclaw girl tell another that Hermione was crying in a bathroom and wanted to be left alone. With no more directions than that, Harry started to sweep the castle, going from one bathroom to the next, knocking on each door and finding an absense of his friend as he worked his way up the floors, and for once, he cursed the castle for having so many bathrooms.

He had just come up the stairs from the second floor when he was stopped by the too-familiar ginger, who was in the company of Neville and his ever-present lady friend.

"Hey, Harry," called the redhead, grabbing the black-haired boy by the arm as he greeted him. "Where are you going? Let's go to the Halloween feast!"

"Get your hands off me," growled the raven-haired boy, feeling an icy chill start to form in the pit of his stomach.

"It's me, your best friend Ron," the boy said. "Come on, the Halloween feast is about to start. You don't want to miss it, do you?"

Harry shook himself free of the ginger's grasp; nearby, he could see Neville and his friend back away slightly, sensing the situation was coming to a head.

"I need to find Granger," Harry said coldly, trying to push past, but the redhead blocked his way. "She's apparently crying alone in a girls' bathroom."

_Because of you_, he added to himself in thought but did not say aloud. Right now, he didn't need more enemies. Barking dogs and all.

"What do you care about Granger?" asked the redhead, a laugh in his voice. "She's a nightmare, you know. That's why she's got no friends."

And that was that.

Without a word, the raven-haired boy jabbed the crook of his cane hard into the redhead's gut, doubling him over almost instantly. Even a step below him, the noirette was able to seize him by the necktie, pulling his head close so he could talk next to his ear.

He wasn't angry. Just annoyed.

"Me and you, we're not friends," the raven-haired boy said, emerald eyes shimmering icily like gemstones. "We've never been friends, and we're never going to be friends." He then viciously thrust the head of his cane into the redhead's solar plexus, forcing the breath from his body. "You are a terrible, thoughtless person, a groupie who thinks just because you're near somebody famous, they're automatically going to like you and be your friend because you think you're somehow special. Well, news flash, motherfucker: you're not special, unless you mean the type of education you very clearly need.

"Miss Granger is my friend, and you, you hurt my friend. I protect my own.

"You and I? We're through. And now, you're going to need hospital."

With that, raven-haired boy stepped to the side, yanking hard on the ginger's tie while hooking his leg with his cane, sending him tumbling down the stairs, striking every step on the way down until he came to a rest on the landing, a crumpled pile.

Deliberately, The-Boy-Who-Lived walked back down the stairs to crouch over the prone redhead, speaking softly into his ear. "If my name comes out of your mouth, I will make you disappear. Why do you think Malfoy won't fuck with me anymore? Here's a hint: it's not my charming personality, because I ain't got one."

Walking back up the steps, he came to a stop before Neville and his lady friend. "Me and you, Longbottom, we're cool," he said. "Your lady friend too." He jerked his thumb towards the ginger. "That piece of shit needs hospital, so if I could trouble you..."

"I'll get him to Madam Pomfrey, and I'll keep you out of it," said Neville, a wide smile on his lips. "You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that."

"Me too," agreed his friend, before adding, "I'm Fay Dunbar. Neville told me you forgot his name, so I figure you've forgotten mine too, which is why you keep calling me his 'lady friend'."

"Very observant, Dunbar," said the raven-haired boy with a nod. "I'll remember that."

"Well, good luck finding Granger," said Fay, as she and Neville descended the stairs. "She's lucky to have a friend like you."

"No, I'm a terrible person," Harry called back.

"A terrible person who still protects his friends!" the Gryffindor girl called back. "That's the best kind of friend to have."

**~ooOoo~**

Harry briskly knocked on the third floor bathroom door. The immense scale of Hogwarts castle had cost him a lot of time in his floor-to-floor sweep, and now, it was practically time for the Halloween feast to begin, and he was still knocking on doors.

"Go away!"

Harry recognized the voice as Hermione's even though it was hoarse from crying, and he knocked on the door again.

"I said, 'go away'!"

"It's me," Harry said, pushing the door open. "I'm coming in."

He found Hermione in a bathroom stall, sniffling and wiping her nose with loo roll.

"What do you want?" Hermione, her eyes red from crying.

"Came to check on you," said Harry. "Heard about what the ginger twat did."

"What do you care? It's like he said, I don't have any friends."

"Granger, I'm your friend, and I hope you're my friend," Harry said. When he got a small nod from the girl, he continued. "He's wrong, you know."

"Then why don't I have more friends?" wailed Hermione tearfully. "It's been two months and you're still the only person who talks to me when they don't have to! Everybody else acts like I'm a leper!"

"You know they're just jealous of you, right?" asked Harry.

Hermione blinked in confusion. "What?"

"You're the smartest person my own age who I've ever met," Harry said. "For most people, finding somebody better than them makes them feel inadequate, makes them feel scared."

Hermione sniffled, but looked thoughtful.

"You're intelligent, you're hard-working," Harry said. "Compared to the rest of them, you're a bright, shining star, and they're jealous and they're scared you'll make them look bad."

"But what about you? If I'm the smartest person you've met, why aren't you jealous and scared I'll make you look bad?" Hermione asked, her voice small and doubtful.

"That's my secret," said Harry with a smile. "I don't care what other people think about me. And honestly, neither should you."

"What?"

"Granger, unless you want to be dragged down to their level, you shouldn't care what people think about you," Harry said. "You're like a rocket, aimed straight at Jupiter, and everybody else just wants to bring you down because they don't want to believe it's possible to get there, and even more scared you'll be the first to do it."

Hermione smiled wryly at the analogy.

"Besides, you don't need their approval, or anybody else's, for that matter," Harry said. "Hermione Granger, you are absolutely wonderful just the way you are, and you shouldn't change for anybody. If they don't like you, don't want to be your friends, that's their loss; I'm proud to say I'm your friend, even if I'm your only friend."

"But if I don't change myself, wouldn't I just be seeking your approval?" Hermione countered, blood-shot eyes bright and a smile on her lips.

"You know what I meant, Granger," Harry said, shaking his head ruefully.

"But do I?" argued Hermione playfully, as she got up from the toilet she was sitting on and came out of the stall.

Before Harry could respond, there was the sound of splintering wood and smashing stone. Instantly, the two children turned in unison towards the noise and found themselves staring at a twelve foot tall creature with dull grey skin and a body that looked like it might have been made of clay.

"Troll!" squeaked the girl, clutching the boy in shock.

"That can't be a troll," Harry said, incredulous. He knew he should be feeling panic, but instead, all he felt was the cold calm in his chest. "It's skin isn't rubbery and warty, it's not thin and frail, and it doesn't have any hair!"

"It's a troll!" Hermione protested, and Harry let the argument drop when he saw the creature size them up before raising a club.

Instinctively, Harry pushed Hermione behind him, doffing his outer robe and shoving it into her hands.

"Hey!" Hermione protested.

"You got something this, be my guest," said Harry. When Hermione shook her head weakly, he nodded grimly. "Yeah, I didn't think so."

For once, Harry was glad his prior injury had been to his right leg, which gave him a reason to hold the cane in his right hand. Wordlessly, he pitched it forward towards the troll, passing Astral power through the object just as it left his fingertips, then grabbed Hermione by the arm and pulled her away from the gigantic creature as it charged forward with a roar, running for the far wall as fast as he could.

The roar quickly turned into a cry of pain; turning around from across the room, Harry could see the troll was half-way into the room but was transfixed on his cane, which was buried up to the crook in the creature's belly, making it unable to go further without utterly disemboweling itself.

Seeing the stuck creature, Hermione exhaled in relief, then saw the look on Harry's face, a combination of grim determination and calculated malice. "Harry, what are you…"

"Whatever happens next, swear you'll never tell anybody," said the raven-haired boy as he turned to the girl, grabbing her by the shoulders as his emerald eyes piercing deep into her soul, sending a chill down her smile.

"Harry, you're hurting me," she said protested, and the boy let go of her arms.

"Swear you'll never tell anybody," the boy repeated, eyes burning holes into her soul.

Swallowing, Hermione nodded solemnly. "I swear I'll never tell anybody."

The next dozen seconds were the worst of Hermione Granger's young life.

Stepping forward, the boy wrapped his left hand in a fist around his right index finger, which he held up vertically, saying, "_Creo ignem_!" in a loud, clear voice before extending his right hand. From his fingertips burst forth a long jet of a orange-white fire, spraying across the room and bathing the troll's bald head and chest in flames, making the creature shriek in pain as its skin and flesh sizzled and melted away, filling the air with the scent of meat being roasted as fat dripped onto the floor in small pools.

It continued for what felt like an eternity, the creature writhing and howling in agony, until its cries slowly turned into whimpers and its struggles turned into mere twitching, then silence and stillness as it finally slumped forward heavily onto the cane, which Hermione could now see was glowing an almost imperceptible blue.

Hermione retched, eyes watering from the smoke and the smell of burnt flesh.

"If you're going to throw up, use the toilet," said the boy calmly, before once again taking his finger in his hand. "_Creo auram_."

Hermione rushed into one of the stalls just as she fell a blast of cold air rush out of the room; she dry heaved into the toilet, her stomach already empty from having skipped lunch.

Behind her, she heard the boy say "_Perdo corporem_," but she was too busy trying to lose the lunch she didn't have to really pay attention.

It took her a minute to regain her composure; when she did, she found the boy waiting for her, brow slightly furrowed by otherwise no worse for wear, though the troll was now sitting across the room, slumped against a wall, blood and viscera splattered everywhere but on herself and the boy.

"Why'd you do that?" Hermione asked, accusation in her voice.

"It would have killed us, if had the chance, and I've been killed by too many trolls to let one get us in meatspace," the boy said flatly. "Trolls will regenerate against anything other than acid and fire, so those were my only options, and I don't have anything for acid."

"I don't know where you read that, but that's not true," Hermione said.

"Then it's not a troll," the boy said. "Maybe a stone giant, but definitely not a troll."

Hermione swallowed as the boy came to her, nearly jerking away when their hands touched.

He calmly took the robe from her hands and put it back on.

"Are you all right?" he asked, concern clear in his face and voice at her extreme reaction.

Hermione nodded weakly, still unsure how she felt about the boy who had saved her life but had burned a living thing to death in doing so.

"We should go," the boy said. "Wouldn't want people asking questions."

Hermione nodded again, letting the boy take her by the hand and lead her from the bathroom demolished by battle, too tired to resist. As they came around the corner, Hermione spotted a procession of professors and started to call out to them, only to find the boy suddenly clamping his hand over her mouth, yanking the hand he had in his up between her shoulder blades in a painful joint lock and dragging her back around the corner. Trying the door he had pulled her to with an elbow even as she struggled against his hold, he found it locked and quickly glanced at it before whispering, "_Muto terram_."

The door unlocked with a click, and the boy dragged her into the room, closing the door behind them with his foot. Pressing his ear against the door, he held them against the surface until he heard the footfall fade, then finally let her go.

Instantly, Hermione spun around to face him, nearly in tears as she struck and slapped at him again and again with open hands. "Why'd you do that?" she demanded in a huff, though her voice was soft. "They could have helped!"

"I don't want them asking how the boy who can't use magic used magic," he said calmly.

"I thought you didn't care what people thought about you," Hermione accused, sneering angrily, and immediately regretted her tone, cringing inside at the sudden thought of losing her friend, her only friend, the friend who had just saved her from a troll.

"I don't," said the boy, a wry smile on his lips. "I care what they know about me."

Hermione had a retort ready on her lips, but a low growl from behind made the two turn towards the source of the sound.

Not too far away, a three-headed dog glowered at them, a gnarl rumbling in it back of its three throats as drool dolloped onto the trapdoor it stood over.

"I think this was why the corridor on the right side of the third floor is prohibited," Hermione said, and the boy nodded in agreement.

"We should go," said the boy

'We should," Hermione agreed, and the two quietly slipped out of the room, into empty halls.

"I'm really sorry about dragging you into that room," the boy apologize. "Let me walk you back to Ravenclaw tower?" he asked, and Hermione nodded.

"You know, if you want to make friends, you'll need to take the first step," he said. "You can't just expect them to approach you and ask; sometimes, you've got to make an effort, take the first step and just talk to them, find out what they like, discover common ground that you have. Friend's don't just appear out of thin air, you know? It's an investment in other people, and an investment other people make in you."

Hermione nodded, considering the words the boy said. "Thanks, Harry," she murmurred.

"Null sweat, chummer," Harry said, and they fell into a comfortable quiet.

As the two walked together in silence, Hermione found herself looking at the boy in a new light. Yes, he was still Harry Potter, the boy she had met in Diagon Alley, the boy who she had briefly thought might be a prince who could sweep her away on a white steed, but that girlish fantasy had been dashed the first time they met at Jason's hobby shop and he chastised her for her willingness to believe anything she read. He was still the boy who had given her advice on how she could see the world and how she could live her life, though, and he would keep doing it, even if she said mean things to him, as she had just done.

But he was also a killer, someone who could and would make hard choices, someone she could rely on to do what needed to be done to keep her safe, to burn those who would harm her to torturous death. She wanted to condemn him, to call him a murderer, to disavow their friendship, but she could not; if the situation had been reversed, she did not know if she could have done for him what he had for her, and in her heart, she hoped she never would have to find out. Truthfully, she feared it was not something she had the strength to do.

Hermione looked at Harry again. It was true, he was no knight in shining armor, but he had risked his life to protect hers all the same, and that was what mattered, or at least that's what she told herself as they came to the door at Ravenclaw Tower.

"Remember, make an effort, talk to people, find out about them as individuals, what makes them tick," Harry advised, and she nodded. "I need to get back to Hufflepuff. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Hermione nodded again, then watched as her only friend departed before turning back to the door of the tower. Today, he was her only friend, but she was going to strive to make more.

**~ooOoo~**

"What on earth were you thinking of?" demanded Professor McGonagall furiously, an icy edge in her voice. "Why weren't you in your dormitory?"

Neville Longbottom wasn't quite sure how to answer; after Professor Quirrell had stumbled into the Great Hall, ranting and raving about trolls, Fay had been the one to remember Harry had went looking for Granger and did not know about the situation.

"We were looking for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger," said the Gryffindor girl brightly, smiling widely and hiding her awe as she surveyed the carnage around her. "They weren't at the feast because Ron had made Hermione cry, so they wouldn't have known about the troll."

Snape gave Neville a sharp look, but the boy was far too baked to care; he had smoked a fresh spliff with Fay right before the feast to whet their appetites, and now, he felt immensely relaxed despite the gore spread across the bathroom and the corpse slumped against the wall, a puddle of blood pooling under it.

Besides, the smell of roasted flesh was making him even more hungry.

"Why didn't you notify a prefect?" the Scottish professor inquired.

"We did, but they did nothing," Neville drawled, knowing the answer to that question.

"So we went looking for Harry and Hermione, and found this troll instead," Fay said.

"And you slew the troll?" asked the professor, incredulously.

"Yes, ma'am," Fay said cheerfully, an outright lie. "I've been practicing _incendio tria_ so it was the first thing that came to mind, but my control's still not very good yet."

"Well, you were lucky," said the professor. "Not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. Five points each for Gryffindor. You may go; students are finishing the feast in their houses."

The two smokers hurried from the chamber, staying silent until they had left the floor.

Neville spoke first. "Fay, why did you take credit for it?"

"If it was Harry, do you think he'd want people to know it was him?" Fay asked.

"But everyone says Harry can't do magic!"

"What makes you think he'd need magic to do this? You heard about what he did to Draco and you saw what he did to Weasley. Do you think he wouldn't be capable of doing that to a troll?"

"What if it was Granger?"

"Do you think Granger would have the stomach to kill a troll? Especially like that?"

Neville pondered the question seriously, but then decided it was too much effort. He was still hungry, and there was going to be a feast in Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** As you can see, things tend to escalate quickly around this version of Harry and he's quite comfortable with violence; it's a byproduct of the violence and abuse he's been exposed to as a child. He may be many things, but a saint he is not. At least he's perceptive enough to be self-aware of his own moral short-comings.

For those wondering why Harry reacts so calmly to the troll and imminent death, or any situation really, it should be noted that he pretty much feels nothing at this point, or at least feels it in a very muted manner. This goes back to his tattoo and the sigils, materials and methodology used in its creation: ᛉ, _algiz_, is not only a rune of protection and the higher self, but also of the control of emotion, and blue kyanite keeps his mind safe from manipulation, including from his own emotions. In a sense, by protecting his mind from intrusions, Harry broke himself.

Smuggling. Distribution of a controlled substance. Aggravated battery with a deadly weapon. Intimidation. Voluntary manslaughter. Evidence tampering. Fleeing a crime scene. Obstruction of justice. Kidnapping. Breaking and entering. It's only been a couple months at Hogwarts, and Harry's already committed an array of crimes. As to why he's okay with it, again, he's a moral consequentialist, and cyberpunk has taught him crime's only a problem if you get caught _and_ can't make the investigating officer go away. I know, it's probably not a genre children should be consuming, but he's been consuming it at a very rapid rate. Expect a lot more crimes to be committed by this terrible person who is also the main character of this story before the tale is concluded. Morally flexible Harry is fun.

I always enjoy writing the more introspective parts of the story. That said, Harry isn't smarter than Hermione despite the way he acts; he just happens to have more life experience and better friends than she's had. To make a _Dungeons & Dragons_ analogy, she has a higher Intelligence score than he does, but his Wisdom score is higher and he's got a couple levels on her, and in real life, that's kind of important. She's had a sheltered life; he's had to make things work.

This chapter is as much about Hermione as it was about Harry; how does an idealistic girl like herself come to terms with somebody who is morally flexible? It's a process of self-justification and rationalizing things to yourself so the world keeps making sense. Hermione is probably going to be doing a lot of that.

And no, Harry isn't Neville or Fay's friend, even if they are his. He's a terrible person, so he's terrible accordingly.

The next chapter's a long one.

Reviews and PMs are welcome as always. Usual credits to Shinshikaizer and goalie12345.


	20. The Hermetic Method

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 20: The Hermetic Method**

* * *

As Harry had expected, Hermione came into the library in search of him first thing the following morning, going so far as to skip breakfast; it had been for this prediction that he had decided to do his morning independent study in the library rather than in his dormitory room.

She came straight to the table where he was working, opening her mouth to speak, but he silenced her by holding up a finger before jerking his thumb towards the sign behind the ever-present Madam Pince. The bushy-haired brunette frowned, and Harry slipped the sheaf of paper he was writing on into the geography workbook he was working from, then closed it and put it into his haversack, quickly pocketing his writing implements before standing up and pushing the chair in under the desk.

Instantly, the girl seized his free hand, pulling him after her as she rushed out of the library; behind her desk, Madam Pince quirked an eyebrow, but otherwise chalked the behavior of the girl who clearly loved the library up to young love. She had no idea how wrong she was.

Hermione lead Harry through the just-filling hallway, up a flight of stairs, through another hallway, and then up another staircase before finally yanking him into an abandoned classroom and securing the door behind them.

"How did you do it?" she asked.

"Do what?" Harry asked back, playing dumb.

"Last night," Hermione said. "You say you can't do magic, but you did magic last night. Not just magic, either, but wandless magic."

"I never said I couldn't use magic," said Harry. "I always said I couldn't get the spells we were being taught here to work for me."

"Well, you let me assume you couldn't use it," said the girl. "And that's not very nice."

"I let a lot of people assume all kinds of things about me," Harry retorted tightly. "It's called 'information control'; by managing the information people receive about me, I can control how they see me and, to a lesser extent, how they feel about me.

"Take, for example, the professors. McGonagall pities me because she thinks I can't use magic; even though she doesn't say anything, you can see it in the way she looks at me, like I'm somehow less than everybody else. The wee pensioner who teaches Charms…"

"Professor Flitwick," Hermione interrupted, feeling slightly offended by Harry's description of her favorite professor.

"Yeah, sure," said Harry, shrugging. "He compares me to somebody else in his head every time he looks at me and knows I can't cast a charm to save my life; to him, I'm a disappointment.

"Then, there's the students. Hufflepuffs think they can help me overcome my difficulties with hard work alone, if I'd just let them. Ravenclaws think I'd make for a great subject for an experiment. Gryffindors love to speculate whether I used up all my magic defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And Slytherins think I'm not even worth bothering about because I'll never be a threat.

"Except Malfoy. He thinks I'm He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, biding my time until I'm powerful enough to once again take over the world. Wonder who gave him _that_ idea."

Hermione considered what Harry was telling her. While she could not vouch for his observations about the professors, as she had never thought to watch them in such a way, she did know the way students had speculated about her friend since school had begun two months ago and it was discovered Harry Potter was hopeless with a wand in his hand, and that Malfoy had stopped harassing him ever since the incident during the second week of the semester.

"But why would you want people thinking you can't use magic?" Hermione asked.

"Because I want to be underestimated," said Harry. "I want people to look at me and think to themselves, 'Harry Potter can't possibly do anything to me magically.'."

"But why?"

"A magical bogeyman came to murder me when I was a toddler. They say I defeated him, but they never found a body, and I've read enough comic books and watched enough movies to know that means he's probably not really dead yet."

There was a moment of silence as Hermione considered what Harry told her, but then she pushed it back aside as her curiosity got the better of her. "How did you do it?"

"Do what? You'll need to be more specific."

"Wandless magic! Only wizards and witches of great skill use it reliably!"

"Swear you won't tell anyone about any of this?"

"I, Hermione Jean Granger, swear I will _not_ tell anyone about any of this."

Wordlessly, Harry dragged the lectern over to the door, lodging it under the handle and barricading the door shut before turning back towards Hermione.

"It's not a form of wand magic," he said.

"Huh?"

"The magic I used wasn't wand magic that I then took the wand out of," Harry explained. "Wands were never involved with it in the first place."

"But that's impossible," Hermione protested. "Magic can't be done without wands unless you're one of the most powerful and disciplined…"

"I've been doing it since I was nine," Harry interrupted, interrupting Hermione.

"But that's not possible!"

"What did I tell you about believing what other people tell you?"

"That I should ask why they would tell me those things?"

"Now, why would they tell you it's absolutely necessary to have a wand for magic?"

"So they can sell more wands?"

"And?"

"If they take away our wands, we believe we won't be able to use magic?"

"And?"

"We'll be afraid they'll take away our wands, so we won't do things that'll make them take away our wands?"

Harry let the silence hang in the air for a moment before he continued.

"What I do, if I were to give it a name, would be the Hermetic arts, using the Hermetic method," he explained.

"Hermetic arts? Hermetic method?" Hermione asked.

"C'mere," said Harry, beckoning Hermione to approach as he took off his haversack, setting it on the floor of the otherwise abandoned classroom. When she got within arm's reach, he suddenly grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her along as he dropped into his haversack.

With a shriek, the bushy-haired girl fell onto the tousled-haired boy, gingerly opening her eyes when the fall proved much shorter than she expected. Sitting up, she looked around in awe as the lift slowly descending into the haversack's depths.

"You have so many books," Hermione said in awe, eyes darting from side to side as she took in the sight before her. "How…?"

"Flourish and Blotts got me about a hundred," Harry said. "The rest are from just raiding bookstores whenever and wherever I found them."

"I wish I had this many books," the girl said wistfully, eyes wandering the private library while she followed Harry through the stacks, eyes drifting over the numbers hand-printed on labels stuck on the bottom of the spine of each book. "How is this organized?"

"Dewey Decimal," Harry said shortly as he stopped at 793.93 and started pulling books off the shelves, shoving them into Hermione's arms without asking first. She took them without protest, although her brow furrowed as she saw the titles: _Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition Player's Handbook_, _Ars Magica: The Art of Magic_, and _Shadowrun: Where Man Meets Magic and Machine_.

"These are games," she observed.

"And the basis of my magic," Harry said, leading her back to the lift out of the bag.

It took the two a few moments to get settled back in the classroom; as Hermione tried to get comfortable, Harry was going through _Shadowrun: Where Man Meets Magic and Machine_, seeming to be in search of something, brow furrowed in concentration.

Finally, he came to a stop, setting the book on the desk between them and turning it around so she could read more easily. "Read the left-hand column on the page on the left," he instructed.

Hermione did as she was told, the frown on her face deepening the further down the page she went; by the time she finished, she was practically scowling.

"This is a game," she reiterated.

"What works, works," Harry said with a shrug. "But as it says, Hermetic magic is scientific; you have to do research, design spells and actually work out how things function."

"That doesn't make it not a game!" Hermione protested.

The noirette sighed, his right hand rising from his side until it was in line with his collar bones, fingers pointed skyward and palm tilted slightly towards the girl, he then extended his left hand so it faced Hermione, who instinctively ducked as he said, "_Creo vim_."

Instantly, a translucent green disc formed in thin air in front of his outstretched hand; it was the size of an extra large pizza and similarly shaped, and as Harry moved his hand, it followed, always staying in front of his open palm.

"What is that?" asked Hermione after a moment, only a little bit certain it wouldn't hurt her.

"_Shield_, a basic defensive spell," Harry said. "Come on, throw things at me."

Hesitantly, she picked up a pencil and tossed it lightly at the boy, who moved his hand so that the _shield_ intercepted the projectile. She followed up with an eraser, and then another pencil, and Harry blocked those as well.

"All right, I believe you," said the girl, having run out of things to throw. She watched as the boy's brow furrowed before the disk blinked out of existence.

"How does it work?" Hermione asked.

Harry picked up _Ars Magica: The Art of Magic_, quickly paging through the book until he found what he was looking for before putting it down in front of the girl. "In my experience, Hermetic magic has a lot components: Forms and Techniques make up the verbal components, gestures make up the somatic components, some spells require the use of material components to make them function properly, and then there's visualization of the effect and the channeling of Astral power that gives the spell its actual energy source."

"Astral power?" asked Hermione, dumbfounded by the assertion. "There's no such thing as the astral plane."

"And yet, somehow, I can draw power from the Astral Plane and cast spells with it," Harry said. "Listen, I know I've been telling you to be skeptical, to question everything, but there's a flip side to that too: reality doesn't care whether you believe in it any more than you care whether reality believes in you. You're real, reality's real; neither of you are fairies who need to be healed."

Hermione tried to grasp this idea, the need to be skeptical of everything even when questioning things wouldn't alter them; it was something she couldn't comprehend, not even after several silent minutes of trying to figure out what it meant, and finally, she gave up, her shoulders slumping as she felt defeat wash over her. "I don't understand," she admitted.

"Questioning reality doesn't change reality; rather, it changes your perception of reality," Harry explained, only to draw a blank look from the girl. "There's facts, and there's truth. Facts are objective, immutable, what reality is based on; truth is subjective and dependent on individual experiences. What you may view as truth isn't necessarily the facts, because the truth is different between each individual person."

"I don't get it."

"Here's an example, then," said the boy after a moment. "Up until not too long ago, you believed the truth was only the most powerful and disciplined witches and wizards can use magic without a wand; then, I showed you it wasn't the case, and now, your truth is that, you don't need to be powerful and disciplined to use magic without a wand. However, regardless of what you believed…"

"It was always possible to use magic without a wand," Hermione finished, finally understanding. "So, a fact would be 'diamonds are valuable because they're rare', but the truth would be, 'diamonds are valuable because they're a girl's best friend'."

"Actually, diamonds are basically worthless," Harry said, and Hermione frowned. "The reason diamonds are considered valuable is a psychological phenomenon created by advertisers; they're actually very commonly found, and if you took a diamond to a jeweler, they wouldn't buy it from you unless it was a remarkable specimen. Diamond cartels actually have more diamonds than they know what to do with; they're just limiting supply so they can keep their profits high."

"Fine," huffed Hermione. "A fact would be, 'gold is valuable', but the truth would be, 'gold is valuable because it's shiny' or 'gold is valuable because it's rare'."

"Yes, that's correct, although, if you're going to try to find a truth about the value of gold, you might want to make it, 'gold is dense, soft, shiny, malleable and ductile, has the highest corrosion resistance amongst all metals, is a very good conductor of heat and electricity, and will not oxidize, which makes it a very useful and desirable metal for industrial applications; because there are so many uses for the material, which is also incredibly rare but also very pretty, gold is extremely valuable'."

"Huh," said Hermione, brow furrowing as she digested this new information. "How do you know this? And why?"

"I asked Romy," Harry said. "She's working on her doctorate in chemistry, so she knows a lot about material sciences, and after I asked her, I cross-referenced with books and my own experiences in the world, like how high fidelity sound systems use gold to improve audio quality or dentists fit gold crowns over cavities."

"Oh."

"Yeah. So anyways, how the Hermetic method works is like this: when I create a new spell, I have to decide what exactly it does, then figure out the Form and Technique that would apply to it. From there, I have to infer what gestures would represent what I'm trying to do, as well as figure out how to visualize the process of the spell at work. After I've got all that down, I practice it again and again, at first without applying any Astral power at all until I can perfectly perform the incantation and the gestures smoothly while at the same time completing the visualization without a mistake; then, I try the spell with Astral power, but only the minimum amount of it I can channel, in case something goes wrong with the spell. Once I'm certain the spell will behave the way I want it to, then I can work on the amount of Astral energy I use during any single casting, until I find a balance between power and not being worn out by the casting. After that, I repeat it until it's practically muscle memory.

"And that's only for rote magic."

"Rote magic?" Hermione asked, once again confused.

"Oh, right," Harry said. "There's actually two kinds of magic within the Hermetic arts: rote magic and spontaneous magic. Rote magic are spells you can use again and again to achieve the same or similar results every time; it's actually not unlike magic with a wand, where if you say the right words and use the correct gestures, you're guaranteed to get practically the same result each time you cast a spell. Spontaneous magic is for one-time effects, things you can't necessarily duplicate in the future because it has too many moving parts, where the situation might not be the same the next time or when you have to create a new magical effect on the fly."

"You can do that?" asked the girl, eyes widening at the idea.

"Would it matter if I couldn't?" Harry asked.

"No," Hermione admitted. "If you told me you could but you couldn't, then all that would do is change my truth, not the facts."

"That's right," Harry said, nodding. "Don't ever believe something just because somebody tells you it, not even if it's me."

"Then who can I trust?" Hermione asked, eyes narrowing. "Why can't you just tell me the truth?" Then, realizing the answer, she interrupted Harry before he could speak. "Information control."

A moment of quiet followed as Hermione fumed silently to herself. Then, she stood so she was eye level with Harry, locking her rich chestnut brown eyes with his piercing emerald green ones as she walked him down; when he stood his ground, which she did not expect, the girl found herself standing awkwardly nose-to-nose with her friend, but she was already committed to it, so she could not just change it.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

"I do," he said.

"Then swear you'll never lie to me," Hermione demanded, trying to keep her voice even.

"I can't do that," Harry answered back calmly. "There'll always be things I can't tell you, because some wizards can read minds, and not telling you something would be a lie of omission."

"Then swear you'll always tell me the truth, as much as you can and as you best understand it."

"I swear I'll always tell you the truth as I best understand it when you ask me for it, with the caveat I may not always tell you the whole truth," Harry swore, staring the girl dead in the eye as he did so. "Further, I swear, if you ever ask me a question I cannot answer truthfully or I think the answer will hurt you, I'll ask you not to make me lie to you."

"I can live with that," Hermione said softly. Before she could step back, however, Harry had his hands on her shoulders.

"I need you to swear you'll always keep my secrets," Harry said.

"I swear, I'll always keep your secrets," Hermione said seriously, without hesitating.

There was a moment of silence as Harry continued to hold Hermione by the shoulders. Then, with a smile on his lips, he said, "If people who didn't know us saw us, they'd think we're about to kiss."

Flustered, Hermione stepped backwards, blood rushing to her cheeks. Seeing the smile on her friend's face, she realized he was simply teasing her.

"Will you teach me the Hermetic method?" Hermione asked.

"If we do this, you'll need to know what you're getting into," Harry said, and Hermione nodded. "There'll be times I _will_ have to hurt you, and you _will_ have to find it in your heart to forgive me. Can you do that?"

"I can," said the girl without thinking.

"Shake?" Harry asked, extending his left hand.

Hermione took Harry's hand in her own, clasping it firmly as they shook.

A shriek of agony forced its way past her lips as a sudden jolt of searing pain shot through her hand. Looking down, Hermione saw in horror the blade of slender knife stuck into the back of her hand and out of the back of Harry's.

"Harry… there's a knife…"

"I know," said the boy calmly as blood dripped from their hands. "I put it there."

"What?" gasped Hermione, starting to hyperventilate and get cold sweats. "Why?"

She watched in shock as the boy calmly pulled the blade out of her hand, feeling a detached kick of agony as the metal left her flesh, and she pulled her hand out of the boy's, clutching wound as her hand throbbed in excruciating pain.

"This is something that may save your life one day, so pay attention," said the boy, tossing the bloodied knife onto the desk between them. Making sure the girl was looking at him, he held up both hands, index and middle fingers pointing up together and thumbs pressed against his curled ring and little fingers, then brought them down to waist level, saying, "This is the _prana mudra_, the life force seal; as the name implies, it governs life forces. The Technique for this spell is '_creo_', Latin for 'I create', and the Form is '_corporem_', 'body'. Watch your hand; it'll give you the visualization you need for this spell."

Hermione watched as the boy's brow furrowed in concentration as he said, "_Creo corporem_," in a calm, even tone, even as blood pooled on the floor under him. She felt a warmth penetrate her open wound from the outside and felt an intense itching sensation that made her want to reach into the injury and scratch the inside; looking down at her hand, she watched in a combination of shock and amazement as the cut pulled together and knitted close, healing until there was nothing left besides a small, pale scar no more than a centimeter long on the back of her blood-caked hand and the memory of the agony of being stabbed.

"Why did you do that?" Hermione asked.

"I did warn you beforehand, and you said you understood," the boy said, before holding up his own hand, which was still leaking blood. "Would you be so kind as to heal me?"

In an instant, the memory of her experience flashed involuntarily before her eyes; in it, she could recall with perfect clarity the gesture he had used, the words he had said, and the image of her own wound closing. Instinctively, she mimicked them, performing the _prana mudra_ as she said, "_Creo corporem_?", the image of her closing wound still vivid in her mind.

"It should be a statement, not a question," the boy instructed. "Don't forget to channel Astral power when you're casting. And focus on the injury you want to heal."

"I don't know how to channel Astral power," Hermione protested.

The boy sighed and walked up to her, then reached over, pressing his right hand against her forehead. Shocked, Hermione found herself standing still, but then felt something warm flow from the boy's hand into her head, down her back and into every nerve, making them tingle and suddenly feel like they were on all alive at once. "Feel that? That's Astral power. Now, instead of me feeding it to you, try drawing it out of the world."

"I don't know how, though," Hermione reiterated.

The boy shrugged. "I can't really explain it. Just try it," he said. "Remember the sensation of Astral power flowing through you, and try to pull it out of the air."

Hermione frowned at the non-explanation, then sighed; Harry had been very clear on explaining everything else, so she decided the vague explanation was him not having a concrete idea of how he managed it himself. She still had no idea how the astral plane worked, but she did have experience with magic using a wand.

Closing her eyes, Hermione focused on the warmth she had felt in her tummy every time she cast a spell with a wand. Feeling it stir, she tried to shape it and found it malleable and willing to bend to her will, and so, she pulled on it, drawing a small bit through her body, and her nerves came to life in the same way they had when Harry had injected Astral energy into her body. Closing her eyes, she focused again on the words Harry had spoken, the gesture he had made, the memory he had told her to remember; then, opening her eyes, she started intently at his bleeding hand, mimicking his previous gestures and saying, "_Creo corporem_" as she focused on taking the energy from within her that she had drawn on to healing her friend's open wound.

Suddenly, the warmth rushed out of her in a wild wave, and her eyes widened in shock as Harry's hand healed in an instant; yet, the warmth flowing forth beyond her control with no signs of stopping. She felt something something start to run out of her nose, and she saw Harry's expression quickly become one of concern as he interlocked the fingers of his right hand with those of his bloodstained left in the direction of his palms, index fingers raised and pressed together with his thumbs, exclaiming, '_Creo auram_!"

Hermione wobbled as her vision started to blur and she felt light-headed, barely able to make out the electricity crackling along the surface of her friend's hand as he reached to grab her; the instant his skin touched her own, she felt a searing pain rip through her entire body, and she went completely rigid, her muscles locking up tight as her friend eased her to the floor. However, the warmth suddenly stopped flowing from her tummy, as though a door had slammed shut, and her vision cleared slowly, leaving her to look up from her back at the boy who was supposed to be her friend.

"What was that for?" she asked, her breath ragged. "It really hurt."

"You nearly died," said the boy, wiping her nose a piece of tissue paper before showing it to her.

Hermione stared at the blood on the tissue. "What happened?"

"You channeled too much Astral power, and it damaged you physically," the boy said.

"I didn't use that," the girl confessed. "I used the magic that get used with the magic they teach here."

"Whatever you used, it nearly killed you," Harry said. "You lack the precision control necessary to close the channel once you achieved what you wanted to. That'll come with practice."

"What did you do to me?" Hermione asked, still unsure what had transpired.

"I shocked you when I kept feeling magic flow into me even after the wound had closed and you started bleeding; it was the only way I knew how to shut down the flow of magic, by making every muscle in your body lock up and forcing an electric current through your nervous system, which is how magic is channeled."

Hermione let the information sink in for a moment, then said softly, in an accusatory tone, "You didn't have to stab me."

"I kind of did," Harry said.

"I don't believe you."

"I swore I'd always tell you the truth."

"Then why did you have to stab me?"

"The spell I was teaching, _Heal Wounds_, is something you'll one day be casting on yourself when you're in a lot of pain because you're very badly hurt," the boy explained. "I once had to cast it on myself while I had cracked ribs and a broken jaw. Not to mention, studies have shown memories formed during traumatic events remain seared into the victim's mind for a very long time, which is one of the reasons people who have had traumatic experiences can't stop reliving them, and this is a spell you'll want seared into your memories, because when shit goes to hell and you're seriously injured, you don't want to forget how to heal yourself."

"You stabbed me for my own good?" Hermione asked, still skeptical.

"You don't believe me?" asked the boy, cocking his head to the side.

"I believe you. I just think there might have been a better way."

"There might have been, but I couldn't think of it in the moment. I'm sorry I hurt you like that."

"I forgive you, Harry," Hermione said, before looking around. "How're we going to clean up all of this blood?"

Hermione watched Harry look around, taking in all of the blood, then clasp both hands together, index fingers extended together and the rest intertwined against the back of his hands.

"_Perdo corporem_."

As she watched, the pools of blood started to shrink in on themselves, until not a single drop remained on the floor, table, knife or even their skin.

"What spell was that?" Hermione asked. "I know '_corporem_' is '_body_', so that's the Form, but what's '_perdo_'?"

"This actually isn't a spell," Harry said. "I used spontaneous magic to destroy all the blood. '_Perdo_' is 'I destroy'."

"Why did you have to use spontaneous magic? Couldn't you have used rote magic?"

"I could have, if I knew a spell with the application," Harry explained. "I never researched or developed a spell for cleaning blood, so I have to create the magical effect on the fly."

"Oh," said Hermione. After a moment, she changed the subject. "Where do the gestures you use come from?"

Harry chuckled to himself. "I actually first saw magical gestures in comic books," he admitted. "Doctor Strange and Doctor Fate both used specific gestures when they cast spells, so I took the comics to a librarian, who helped me figure out they were _mudra_s, ritual gestures use in Buddhism, Hinduism, Jainism and yoga; there are some Japanese _kuji-in_ thrown in as well, but I rarely need to use those. From there, I did research on all of those and learned as many _mudra_s and their meanings as I could; only then could I use them in my magic."

Hermione cocked her head to the side as she looked Harry in the eyes. "You're telling me your magic is based entirely on comics and games?" she asked, not wanting to believe what she had just been told.

"Well, a lot of research and development went into it, but the short version answer is 'yes'."

"I don't know what to say," said the girl, as she plopped down into a chair, still trying to process this sudden revelation on just what magic was to her friend.

"Well, I do," said the boy, as he picked up one of the books and dropped it into her lap. "You're going to have to do a lot of research to develop your own spells, so you should learn these Forms and Techniques first before you start on anything else."

Hermione looked down at the book in her lap, then picked it up. Even though she was a little disappointed to learn just where Harry's magic came from, she decided it didn't matter; at the end of the day, it was still magic, even if it was a little unusual in its origin.

"Once you learn these Forms and Techniques, then I'll start teaching you the gestures I use. In the meantime, I want you to keep practicing manipulating whatever magical force you use whenever you have time, until you can turn it on and cut it off at will; if you can't control how much magic you're putting into a spell, it'll be dangerous for you to use any magic at all.

"Honestly, given how much you like to do read and research, I think the Hermetic method is really right up your alley," Harry added. "You'll be great at it once you learn all the basics."

"I hope so," Hermione said absent-mindedly. Already, her focus was on memorizing the Forms and Techniques like Harry was instructing her to, and she was going to learn this as fast as she could so she could start learning spells soon.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Roll credits... (TM)

Harry's indifference towards magic involving wands stems from his lack of interest in its practical applications; for him, wand magic is only for passing classes, and he can use the Hermetic arts everywhere else, so he sees no purpose in learning a more restrictive form of magic besides it being a requirement for school. It's for this reason he hasn't really done that much research into the nature of wands and why magical society seems to be so obsessed with them, because his focus on wand magic has been primarily in trying to get it to work for himself, which certainly explains why he doesn't know about traces on wands.

Yes, there's a method to the madness, but, given the cyberpunk-influenced aesthetic of the storytelling, I felt it wouldn't be appropriate to give it away until the narrative itself gave Harry cause to do so. It's one of the things I've always loved about good cyberpunk fiction: stories start where they start and don't give the readers background until there's a reason for the exposition to be revealed within the context of the story and its characters, while characters also don't just talk about things they already know about just for the convenience of an audience they wouldn't even know exist, which I feel reflects more closely to my experience with how life is than the more traditional narrative structure that begins with the origin story and lays out everything from the start.

The division between rote magic and spontaneous magic mirrors the division between wizards and sorcerers in _Dungeons & Dragons_; European magical society also relies almost entirely on rote magic, so the idea of spontaneous magic in the way Harry uses it is probably foreign to them. _Ars Magica_ clearly delineates between the two types of magic as well, though the book never calls the system of fixed spells "rote", yet the term is used in both _Mage: The Ascension_ and _The Dresden Files Roleplaying Game_, but the former won't be published until 1993, and the latter in 2010.

_Heal Wounds_ comes from _Shadowrun_; while arcane spellcasters do not get healing spells in _Dungeons & Dragons_, leaving the treatment of illness and injury in the domain of clerics, _Shadowrun_ has no such reservations. It's another reason why Harry derives his magical system from a hodgepodge of sources; by mixing so many sources together, he has access to so much more than just what one system might offer him, and some of it is what he needed to survive his life.

Harrying referencing the books comes from my own referencing the books to find the correct sections he would need be directing Hermione to. I've always believed those little details make a story, even if I'm the only person doing the work and nobody really understands how accurate to life the details are.

Credit to Shinshikaizer for the original story pitch and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Furthermore, my thanks to Romantically Distant for additional editing and proofing.


	21. Shady Aftermath

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 21: Shady Aftermath**

* * *

"Harry, this is my roommate, Su Lee."

Harry nodded at the slender Asian girl who Hermione had just introduced to him, his hands busy shuffling cards for the players seated at the table; they had not been previously introduced by name, but he recognized her from her regular visits to the gaming club, even though she has stuck mostly with playing _Scrabble_, which made Harry think she was using the club as a means to sharpen her own personal repertoire of knowledge.

"We've met," Harry said, and Hermione's roommate nodded an affirmative. "Want me to deal you two in?"

"You shouldn't gamble," Hermione chided. "It's wrong."

"We're not playing for stakes," said Harry with a shrug, and the players at the table confirmed it. "If you want to play for coin, I hear rumors the ginger twat-waffle's brothers run a floating casino, but I've got nothing to do with them."

"Who?" Hermione asked, confused.

"He means Ron Weasley, Granger," said one of the players at the table, an Indian girl; after Harry had explicitly banned house colors from the club on the grounds they were divisive instead of inclusive, he had found it much harder to identify which students came from which house, but ultimately, he didn't care as long is reduced friction between those present. "Potter here also calls him a 'cunt-muffin', 'arse-barnacle', and 'bell-end'. I don't think he likes him very much."

"You shouldn't use that kind of language, Harry," Hermione chided.

Harry shrugged. "I'd throw him down some steps and call it a staring contest."

Groans echoed around the table at the pun.

"I heard he fell down a staircase and had to spend the Halloween feast in the Medical Wing," chimed in another student, a lanky older boy who constantly ran his fingers through his hair. "He's a right annoying prat, but I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"You know about him?" Hermione asked, clearly surprised.

"Everybody knows of him," came the answer from across the table, a thin, older girl with freckles. "Weasley comes by every meeting and harasses Potter like he thinks they're the best of friends. Can't seem to take a hint, either; don't know why Potter hasn't just thrown him out."

"Don't think he'll be coming by today," interjected a cheerful drawl, and Harry looked over his shoulder to see Neville and Fay together, the Longbottom boy with an unlit spliff in his mouth.

"You know the rules, no smoking in here, Longbottom," Harry said quickly, and Neville smiled widely, tapping the end of the joint as if to show it had yet to be lit.

"Can we talk to you outside?" Fay asked, tilting her head to indicate the door of the abandoned classroom the club was occupying today.

Harry looked to Hermione. "Can you take over dealing a couple rounds for me while I take a break and have a chat with these two?" he asked. Seeing her uneasy expression, he added, "It's not gambling, people mostly play to be social, and you can talk with everybody at the table and make some friends."

"All right," said Hermione in a less-than-enthusiastic tone, even though she wanted to be happier at the opportunity Harry had just dropped in her lap. These were still strangers who she hadn't been properly introduced to, and that filled her with trepidation.

"Great," Harry said as he stood up, placing the cards in the bushy-haired brunette's hands. "This table is blackjack; you know how that works, right?"

"I know," Hermione said. "I've seen _Rain Man_."

"I've not," Harry admitted with a smile. "Heard it's great, though. I'll be back in a few."

Hermione nodded, and Harry left the room with the two first-year Gryffindors.

"How'd you do it, Harry?" asked Fay as soon as they were in the hall and the door closed behind them.

"Do what?" Harry asked innocently.

"The troll," Fay said, happy to play along with the game.

"Funny, I heard you and Longbottom did the troll," Harry countered. "Even got points for it and everything, congratulations on that, by the way."

"Harry, we found the troll when we went looking for you and Granger," said Neville, as he lit the spliff and took a long pull before passing it to Fay. "It was already dead."

"We took credit for it because we thought you wouldn't want people to know it was you," Fay added, her chest puffing with pride as she exhaled smoke.

"What makes you think it was me?" Harry asked, declining the cigarette being passed around.

"Well, only you, Ron and Granger weren't at the feast," Fay said, as she counted the three out on her fingers.

"And Ron was with Madam Pomfrey in hospital," Neville added.

"Which leaves you and Hermione, and I don't think Hermione would have the stomach to burn something to death," continued Fay, as the chubby boy passed her the spliff and she took a hit.

"That assumes it wasn't one of the professors," argued Harry.

"Why would one of the professors burn the troll to death?" asked Fay. "A professor would know something better to take it down with."

"And you think _I'd_ burn a troll to death?" Harry asked.

"You were just making a joke about what happened to Ron last night," Fay pointed out, and Neville nodded in agreement.

"You have heard from just about everybody that I can't do magic, right?" Harry said.

"We don't think you used magic to do it," Fay said, and Neville nodded again.

Harry paused, scrutinizing the clearly curious Gryffindors' expressions. The main threat, that his magic be exposed, had already passed; all that was left was whether he wanted to keep denying what they suspected, even if they would never stop suspecting him.

Something Jason had once mentioned off-hand during a session of _Shadowrun_ came to mind, and the boy decided to run with it.

"Fine, you got me," Harry said with a sigh, throwing up his hands in false capitulation as he lied. "But you have to swear to never tell anybody about this, all right?"

"I swear," echoed the Gryffindors eagerly in unison, and Harry leaned close, like he was telling them something he wanted to keep secret.

"I used jellied petrol," he lied.

"You used what now?" asked Fay, clearly intrigued.

"Jellied petrol," repeated Harry. Seeing the clear confusion in Neville's expression, he sighed before launching into the explanation, a paraphrasing of what Jason had once told him. "In the normal world, there's a highly flammable liquid called 'petrol' people use as a fuel source. Normally, it's thin like water and evaporates pretty quick-like, but there's a process that can turn into the consistency of jelly, which would make it stick to surfaces even when it's burning."

"That's what you used on the troll?" Fay asked.

"Well, that some matches I 'liberated' from Transfiguration."

"Can you show us how you made it?" asked Fay.

"I can't, for a couple reasons," Harry said. "First, it's illegal to have, even in normal society, so it's better if I don't teach you, lest you get the urge to break the law. Second, I don't have any more materials; I wasn't actually expecting to need it, so I didn't bring much with me, and it's not as if the materials are easy to come by, either; I brought them with me from home, and I'm pretty much out of that stuff now."

"Oh."

Harry was glad the Gryffindors had missed the gap in logic of what he had just said; if he had not expected to need it, why would he have made it in the first place? For a moment, he thanked his lucky stars, if they existed, that Gryffindors weren't known for their guile.

"We done here?" Harry asked, and when the two potheads nodded, he opened the door to himself back into the club meet. "You should join the games instead of just watching and laughing at them, you know."

He walked back to the table where he had left Hermione and her roommate, and found the table had fallen into an awkward silence where small talk had once been before. When the bushy-haired brunette looked up at his approach, Harry could see the pleading look in her eyes, almost begging him to take her away from the uncomfortable quiet.

"Who died?" Harry asked, breaking the silence, and the players at the table broke into chuckles. Examining the cards on the table, he saw the face up ace in the dealer's possession and understood fairly well what had happened in the last couple rounds: Hermione had been dealing straight and the players were getting what was on the top of the deck, unlike when Harry had the cards in his hands and made sure everyone playing would regularly get a good hand by controlling who got which cards through bottom and center dealing, thus keeping them engaged by cheating without them knowing about it by "shuffling" the deck after every hand was played. Without the ability to use small talk to keep players engaged, the table was floundering.

"Can we talk in private?" Hermione asked, as she ceded the dealer position back to Harry just as the round finished.

"I just got back," Harry said, quickly shuffling the deck and surreptitiously sighting the order of the cards on the near side as he did so. "Is it urgent?"

"Not exactly," said the bushy-haired girl after a moment's thought.

"Then, why don't we talk after club's over? Until then, feel free to walk around, join a game, watch people or just hang out."

Hermione started to protest, but Harry shot her as disarming a smile as he could, and she seemed to melt under it, capitulating and sitting down at the table as he started to deal the next hand of cards to the players.

**~ooOoo~**

"So, what's up, Doc?"

Hermione had hung around until after the club meeting ended; after they departed the table where Harry was dealing, she and her roommate joined a game of _Scrabble_, and the bushy-haired girl found herself challenged to a battle of vocabulary with some older students, a losing fight if there ever was one, even with Hermione's prodigious knowledge of the English language.

As the club had wrapped up, she had hung around to help with the tidying up, though the way she constantly snuck glances towards him made Harry think she would rather leave to task to somebody else and just drag him away to talk, but did not feel comfortable interrupting him as he used the process to finish up making small talk with the stragglers who were trickling out.

Now, it was just the two of them, leaving the abandoned classroom together, leaving a few students behind, and Hermione looked more comfortable than before. Her roommate had departed without waiting for her, having remembered Hermione's earlier mention of needing to talk to Harry in private, leaving to friends to leave together.

"What did Dunbar and Longbottom want?" Hermione asked.

Harry stole a glance at Hermione's face; he could see the anxiety in her eyes even as she tried to hide it behind a mask of calm, and he realized again just how difficult maintaining friendships with children his own age was, something his previous life experiences had not really prepared him for.

He pulled the bushy-haired girl into the abandoned classroom they were passing by, deciding it was as good a place as any to stop and talk to his friend.

"They thought I killed the troll," Harry told the Ravenclaw girl. "They wanted to know how I did it."

"What'd you tell them?" Hermione asked, clearly concerned.

"Well, there wasn't any way I could convince them I didn't do it," Harry explained. "They had already made up their minds about that, but _did_ still believe I can't use magic, so I told them I used home-made napalm."

"You can make napalm?" Hermione asked, horrified at the implications.

"Petrol and certain plastic products," Harry said with a shrug. "It's not really napalm, but it's close enough to serve the same purpose."

"Why do you know this?"

"Jason mentioned it once during _Shadowrun_. Remembered because I thought it might be useful to know one day, which turned out to be today."

"Why does he know?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask."

"So, you lied to Dunbar and Longbottom? I thought they were your friends."

"I did what I had to; I never promised _them _I'd never lie to them.

"What did _you_ want to talk to me about?" he asked.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, then sat down at a desk. "I've been thinking about what spells I want to learn," she said. "I was reading the _Player's Handbook_ last night and I saw a lot of spells have material components that aren't exactly easy to come by if you can't go to the shops."

"Regardless, you should start with first level spells," said Harry. "They're the easiest to learn because they have easier visualizations than higher level magic."

"Do you have any recommendations?" asked the girl. "I'm not sure where to start."

"You haven't learned any gestural components yet, right?" Harry asked, and the girl nodded in affirmation. "I'd start with _hold portal_ if I were you, unless you want to try jumping off high things, in which case you could also try _feather fall_; both only have verbal components and relatively easy visualizations, but before you start working on either, you need to show me you've learned to control the flow of magic. I don't want you dying just because you can't properly control your power source."

"Fine, but I won't take long," Hermione promised.

"I wouldn't bet on it," warned Harry. "It took me a few months, and that was pretty much all I was doing during all of my free time."

"There's something else, too," said the girl, after another moment, then started fidgeting.

"Spit it out, Granger," Harry said firmly.

"After seeing the club, I think I'd like to try being a game master," Hermione said, still fidgeting. "Maybe you could help me with that?"

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Harry asked, cocking his head to the side as he scrutinized the bushy-haired brunette. Seeing her shoulders start to slump, he realized she had taken what he had said the wrong way and quickly added, "It's a lot of work to prepare for every session and players often won't do what you want them to."

The girl swallowed at the warning. "Still, I want to try," she said. "If I do nothing, I won't be able to make any more friends."

"Players won't necessarily be your friends, depending on how they approach the game," warned the boy, dragging his fingers through his mess of raven locks. "Most of them won't appreciate what you have to do to make the game playable, and many will take you for granted. If they take the approach of players against the game master, they'll make your life a living hell; we used to have a player like that at the shop, and that's what put me off game mastering."

"Still, I want to try," Hermione reiterated, digging in her metaphoric heels. "You said I had to make the effort, right?"

"I did," Harry said, smiling slightly. "If you _are_ going to game master, I recommend running _Dungeons & Dragons_ and not _Shadowrun_; many of the students from magical families won't understand the concepts of technology past the age of steam. No _Ars Magica_ either; they'll likely get into arguments over the magic system."

"I'll remember that," Hermione agreed.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** After two action-intense chapters and a chapter of exposition dump, I felt it was necessary for some lighter fare, so this chapter and the next are both shorter and lighter, hence the simultaneous release to retain a reasonable word count for each week.

I think Harry's advice in the previous chapter was ultimately something Hermione needed to hear; because of it, she's beginning to take steps in creating friendships of her own, starting with her roommate, which, honestly, should have been something she had tried to do from the start, since she would be spending at least the year living with her.

A touch of Harry's sense of humor, and it's very heavily influenced by punchlines you'd hear from rap battles. This will come back much later in this story.

Yes, I know how to make jellied gasoline; it's really not that hard to produce. Call it the knowledge of a misspent youth. If you're reading this, welcome to a government watchlist; it'll be the first of many reasons you'll end up on one if you keep reading this story. And yes, it will come back up in the story, because everything does.

See? Just like Harry practicing sleight of hand.

Harry talks about game mastering, and just how much it can suck, but of course Hermione would want to do it; the amount of research it takes to even start running a campaign just fits who she is as a person, and, having already experienced roleplaying once, she's already been bitten by the bug. Like being an addict, nobody ever really quits roleplaying for good, because it's something most people already have to do in their everyday lives.

I'm looking for a French and a Norwegian translator. While I've used Google Translator for the drafts, I'd nonetheless like to run those parts by actual French and Norwegian language speakers to make sure they're properly translated, rather than rely on machine learning.

Review, PM... like an employee at a hardware store's power tool section, you know the drill.

Credit to Shinshikaizer for the original story pitch and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Furthermore, my thanks to Romantically Distant for additional editing and proofing.


	22. Homecoming

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 22: Homecoming**

* * *

Harry was wrong, and he was big enough of a person to admit it.

It only took Hermione a month and a half to figure out how to properly control her personal magical power; despite his best attempts, she couldn't connect with the Astral plane at all, but her control of the magical power that came from her belly was stable, and they had moved on to the few first-level spells which only required a verbal component. As Harry had expected, Hermione had memorized the Forms and Techniques within the first weekend, but it still took her the six weeks and change she had needed her to learn to control the flow of her magic to start thinking more critically on how each Form could be used; when he had quizzed her previously on the verbal components for spells, she would often find herself stuck on the Form, struggling to select the correct one to achieve the effect Harry was questioning her about. Clearly, creativity was not going to be her strong suit.

With this in mind, Harry had suggested to Hermione she focus her energy on improving her mastery of rote magic rather than worrying too much about spontaneous magic, and she took to the suggestion like a fish to water: as long as he showed her the specific gestures and incantations and explain the visualization to her, she could learn just about any spell very quickly, but if he asked her to try to figure out how a spell from one of the books could be recreated, she would be stumped. Then again, she was still learning the _mudras_ and _kuji-in_ he used in spellcasting, so maybe she would get better with time and practice, though Harry wasn't sure he could repair the damage the rote learning of public education system had done to her critical thinking ability.

The Hufflepuff head of house had went around a week ago, making a list of Hufflepuffs staying for the two weeks between terms, and Harry had signed up at once, not because he wanted to, but because it was expected of him, given the backstory he had fed the staff. Of course, Harry had had no intentions then of actually being at Hogwarts when the break began; he would simply arrange for a way to exit stage left when the time came, because that was what he was going to do, and he wasn't going to let anybody stop him.

Leaving the dormitory room he shared with Roger in the same disorderly state as he would were he staying during the break with the exception of packing the peppers he had hung up to dry out, Harry made arrangements for his roommate deliver his haversack to Fay Dunbar on the morning of the twenty-third of December under the guise of having her deliver it to his relatives through some of her normal relatives, then spent the night before sleeping inside his haversack in a sleeping bag he had bought with the idea of possibly needing it for cold nights, though the basement that made up the Hufflepuff dormitory were surprisingly well-insulated against the snow that had fallen outside, staying warm even as the rest of the campus became chilly.

Harry kept himself busy inside his haversack, working on the last of his independent study for the term and cleaning the inside of his bag for the first time since he had left home for Hogwarts. Only when he was sure it was past departure time did he emerge from his bag, dressed in full streetwear consisting of jeans, a hooded cardigan, a handkerchief over the lower half of his face and some basic trainers, shouting, "**Surprise, muthafuckas!**" at the top of his lungs, in an American accent.

The ruckus was enough to make Neville drop the lit spliff in his hands onto the cushions of the seats he was laid out on.

"Harry! You scared me!" exclaimed the Longbottom boy, slapping the seat as he tried to put out the embers that had fallen onto the upholstery before it could catch fire; the normally pigtailed brunette seated across from him had snatched up the joint and had taken a drag from it, pushing her unbraided hair back behind an ear.

"That was a good one, Harry," Fay said with a wide grin, passing the joint back to Neville. "Thought you were staying at Hogwarts for Christmas."

"That's what I wanted the professors to think," Harry said, smiling back. "Keep my secret?"

"We will," agreed the Gryffindors after sharing a look.

"Why didn't you want the professors to know?" asked Fay, clearly the inquisitive one of the pair.

"I told them my cousin would beat me everyday, and my aunt and uncle would lock me in a cupboard below the stairs," Harry said wryly. "Hard to imagine wanting to return to that."

"Did he?" asked the girl, eyes widening. "Did they?"

"Want to see the scars?" Harry asked back.

"Why are you going back to them?" asked Neville, suddenly serious.

"Who said I am?" countered Harry. "You know me, I'll make something work."

"Then why not stay at Hogwarts?" Fay asked, clearly thinking it was the superior option.

"I need to resupply," Harry said. "I mean, what if _another_ troll gets in?"

"More jellied petrol?"

"Not specifically that, but something like that."

A lull in the conversation followed; it was then that Harry finally got to ask the question he had wanted to since he emerged from his bag: "Where's the ginger cunt-muffin?"

"Weasley?" said Fay.

Harry shrugged. "He's been on to the two of you like a bad rash after the troll."

"He's the worst," Neville said with a sigh. "Ever since then, he thinks we're going to be heroes and hasn't stopped pestering us. What he used to do to you, he does to us now."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry said, genuinely pitying the Gryffindors. "Need me to do something about him?"

"Naw, it's fine," said the girl with a shrug. "These days, I just get him started talking about Quidditch, and it's like having the sports section of the _Daily Prophet_ and _Quidditch Through the Ages_ all rolled into one person."

"You like Quidditch?" Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow upwards.

"Love it," Fay agreed with a smile.

Harry held up a hand, stopping her before she could continue. "Unfortunately, I don't," he said, not wanting to get the girl talking about a sport he knew and cared nothing about.

"So, how'd you get the twat-waffle to leave you alone this time?" he asked.

By this time, the last of the spliff had been smoked, and Neville was leaning back in his seat, eyes closed and a huge smile on his face. Without opening his eyes, the chubby boy answered, "He's staying at Hogwarts with his brothers; his parents are going to Romania."

"Huh," Harry said as he rose up, picking up his bag. "Well, I'm going to leave you kids to your joint and go looking for more people to scare, so enjoy your day."

"You too, Harry," echoed the two Gryffindors.

"Dunbar. Longbottom."

**~ooOoo~**

Of course, Harry did not spent the rest of the train trip scaring people; that was stupid and would blow his cover, so instead, he found himself a nice, quiet cubbyhole and spent his time reading and taking notes.

Now, he was at 4 Privet Drive, having gotten himself back to Surrey without incident, and he rang the doorbell, not wanting to use magic to unlock it as to not give his aunt and uncle a reason to lock him away. Because the Hogwarts Express had left Hogwarts in the morning, it was only early evening instead of being completely dark, and he could see the garden had been well-kept in his absence; he wondered if his aunt and uncle had put Dudley on the task.

The door opened to a comely young woman, no more than thirty, and Harry found himself almost at a loss for words for the moment.

"Can I help you?" she asked, smiling in a way that made her nose crinkle.

"Is this 4 Privet Drive?" Harry asked, leaning to the side as he checked the numbering on the wall to make sure he had the correct address.

"You're at the right place," said the woman. "Can I help you?"

"I used to live here," said the boy, looking the woman in the eye.

"You don't look that old," she said, cocking her head to the side.

"I lived here, back in the summer, before my aunt and uncle sent me to boarding school," Harry said, rephrasing the sentiment in a way that would make sense to a stranger.

"And you came here all by yourself?" she asked. When Harry nodded, her expression softened into one of concerned. "Would you like to come in?"

"I'd like that," Harry said, and the woman stepped aside, allowing the boy passage inside.

Inside, it looked little like Harry remembered; though the floor, walls and ceiling were the same, the furniture had replaced with things with modern designs and the knick-knacks were gone, leaving simple accommodations he could see the appeal of.

He allowed himself be led into the dining room and sat down at the dining table, still looking around at the redesigned living space.

"Would you like some tea, dear?" asked the woman.

"I'm fine, just trying to digest everything," said the boy, as the woman sat down at the table. "Oh, I haven't even introduced myself yet! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I'm David."

"Georgiana," said the woman, taking the boy's proffered hand in her own and shaking it lightly.

"If it's not too much to ask, can you tell me how you came to live here?" Harry-as-David asked.

"It's no trouble," the woman said. "My husband and I were looking to buy a house when our estate agent told us of a couple who were selling their home right away, at below market value, because they were moving out of the country. Of course, we jumped at the chance to buy such a nice property, even though we had to get rid of all the things they left behind.

"Would you like to see your room?"

"I'm fine," the boy said. "They used to lock me in the cupboard under the stairs."

The woman's eyes widened in alarm. "Those were yours? When we saw the bedding and things, we had hoped they weren't using it as a room, but we couldn't be sure."

"Doesn't matter now," Harry said with a shrug. "No point in dwelling on the past."

A pause followed, then Harry asked another question. "What's with all the feral cats? Did something happen to the cat lady who lived down the way?"

"She was hit by a lorry the day we came to see the property," the woman explained. "Word is she passed away before they could take her to hospital."

"That's a shame," Harry said, as he stood up. "I should go. I've taken up enough of your time, and I still need to find accommodations for the evening."

"You could stay the evening," the woman suggested.

"Thank you, I really wouldn't want to impose," the boy said with a smile, as he headed for the front door.

"You can come by anytime if you need anything," the woman said, following him, intent on escorting him on his departure.

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Harry assured the woman. "Please, enjoy this home; it's a good place and deserves good people living in it."

**~ooOoo~**

Rosemary Davies was not expecting the doorbell, so when it rang, it made her jump out of the sofa in surprise, nearly spilling the bowl of crisps she was eating from.

"Coming!" she called out, using the remote to pause the VCR before going to the door. Pausing to check the peephole, she saw nothing in the hallway and started to walk back to the sofa when the doorbell range again, nearly scaring her out of her socks.

Cautiously, she cracked the door open, only to stumble back in surprise when a hand clamped itself on the wood, forcing it open. Falling onto her rear, it took a moment for her eyes to properly register what she was seeing.

"'Squeak?" asked the woman, staring up at the boy standing in the doorway from where she sat on the floor. "What're you doing here? You scared me."

"Probably because you were watching a horror flick," said Harry, lips twisting in a slight smirk. Seeing Romy's chastened expression, he reached down, offering her a hand. "Mind if I sofa surf again tonight? I need a place to stay."

"I didn't know you were coming back for holiday," she said, letting Harry help her up. "Of course you can stay the night."

"Good, 'cause I brought food," said the boy, holding up two plastic bags filled with ingredients. "I'm going to be in the kitchen; I'll let you know when food's done."

"All right," Romy said.

Then, as Harry walked by, she added, "Welcome home, Harry."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** The second of the two-chapter release. Again, a shorter, lighter chapter.

Yes, I do not like the public education system: it teaches too much memorization and regurgitation instead of critical thinking and analysis of facts. While that might be fine for basic arithmetic and learning letters and words, it doesn't hold up when it comes to things like English literature and more advanced STEM coursework.

I know that _Dexter_ didn't air its first season until October 1st, 2006, and "Surprise, Motherfucker!" wasn't broadcast until December 17th, 2006, but I personally couldn't resist, so that was me as the writer making the reference, as opposed to Harry the character doing so.

Ron Weasley. Groupie. Attention seeker. Quidditch expert. Even somebody as annoying as he has his uses. Just not to the main character of the story.

It's always been strange to me that, for people who seem as terrified of magic and hateful of it as they were, the Dursleys didn't leave the country and seek asylum elsewhere once they were rid of Harry even temporarily. For them, being faced with magical people would be like finding out a terrible plague is approaching from the horizon, and even if they have to uproot their life, they'd leave anyways because, well, it's a horrible plague that kills people. If anything, the blood wards which were created against their will would motivate them to get away even more. Unless, of course, they were under some kind of mind control, but surely Dumbledore would not do that, would he? Well, this inept version of Dumbledore certainly didn't.

David may be just a random name for Harry, but it's a little bit of a film reference from me. A contemporary film, so Harry wouldn't know of it, but it's one of my favorites.

I don't know why I felt like Figg getting hit by a truck was in character for her, but it felt right from even before I started the first chapter. I suppose it's because I think she must have witnessed at least some of the abuse heaped on Harry yet did nothing about it beyond maybe report it upstairs, if that, making her complicit in the abuse.

Yes, Harry Potter's moving away from 4 Privet Drive. It was always bound to happen for this version of Harry.

I think Harry and Romy are good together, though I also feel that way about Harry and Karen, and Harry and Jason. No, I don't mean it romantically, just that when I write scenes involving them interaction, it feels natural, like they have great interpersonal chemistry. I think it's probably because each of them reflects an aspect of Harry that he values: Romy for her scientific approach to the world and her skepticism of things presented to her, Karen for her ability to submerse herself in being somebody else, and Jason for that edge of danger and violence bubbling just below the surface.

Review, PM... like acquiring the distribution rights of a movie, you get the picture.

Credit to Shinshikaizer for the original story pitch and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Furthermore, my thanks to Romantically Distant for additional editing and proofing.


	23. Yule Miss Me When I'm Gone

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 23: Yule Miss Me When I'm Gone**

* * *

"Did something happen, 'Squeak? You look haunted."

It was not Jason's usual greeting when a customer came through the door, but then again, Harry wasn't exactly the usual customer.

"I burned a stone giant to death," the boy said with a shrug.

"You're shittin' me, right?" Jason asked.

"Do I look like I'm shittin' you?" Harry countered, looking the shopkeeper dead in the eyes.

"Well, shit, you alright 'Squeak? You want to talk about it?"

"Why is this the first I'm hearing about this?" Romy asked, concerned. "Do you need a hug?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, but the graduate student wrap him in a warm, reassuring embrace nonetheless.

"What happened?" Jason asked.

"We probably should talk about this in the back," said Harry, nodding towards the back room.

"All right, let's go," Jason said.

'Is it all right to leave the shop unattended?" Harry asked.

"It's Christmas Eve," said Jason, as he, Harry and Romy walked to the back of the shop. "Christmas Eve is almost always dead."

"Why do you stay open, then?" Harry asked, pushing to door open and nodding to Jack and Shaun, who were sitting around the table at the center of the room, drinks placed just within their reach as they played chess. From a quick glance, Harry thought Jack was ahead, which was no surprise, given Shaun mostly played chess as a distraction while the Scottish woman had once considered a career in the sport.

"Last minute gifts," the shopkeep said, smiling wryly. "So, what happened with the giant?"

"Well, Hermione called it a troll, but given it's traits, it seems more like a stone giant," Harry said. "That's why I used fire; Hermione identified it as a troll, and we all know only acid and fire will kill a troll, and it's not like I go around carrying vials of acid or material components."

"What's gonnae oan?" asked Jack, looking up from the chessboard.

"'Squeak burned a giant alive," Jason said flatly.

The response between the two at the table were markedly different.

"Whit?!" barked the strawberry blonde, coming out of her seat at once and rushing over to the boy, checking him over as she did so. "Ur ye hurt?"

"That's wicked, mate," Shaun said, taking a sip from the tumbler of amber liquid.

"I'm fine," said the boy, shrugging. "Am I telling this story, or are we going to keep interrupting?"

"Go on," said Shaun, sitting back in his chair nonchalantly.

"Some cunt insulted Hermione and she ran off to cry; we were in different classes at the time, so I didn't find out about it until later. When I found her, we had a little talk about self-worth, and then a giant came smashing through the wall. Hermione said it was a troll even though it looked more like a stone giant, so I killed it with fire.

"Turns out I didn't need to; Hermione told me afterwards their trolls apparently don't need fire or acid to kill."

Silence followed the short summary, and three of the four adults present shared looks of concern between themselves.

"Are you all right? Do you want to talk about it?" asked Romy.

"Not particularly," Harry said shortly, leaving Romy to wonder which question he was answering. "Though it'll probably be some time before I eat barbecue again."

"Wa ur we jist hearin' abit it noo?" Jack demanded, outraged. "Whaur waur th' skale staff?"

"What were you going to do, fly a helicopter out to the middle of nowhere Scotland and rescue me from a castle full of mages?" countered Harry. "It's not like the school is staffed by competents, either; most of them wouldn't be able to hold down a job in a state school, as low of a standard as that would be. I broke a leg, then healed myself, and the school nurse just let me walk out, even when I started faking a limp afterwards."

"You broke your leg?"

Romy sounded concerned. Her face matched her tone.

"First Flying lesson. Flew right into a wall. Bone was poking through skin, too. Instructor just stood there and watched like a beetle junkie with a simsense. Fuckin' incompetents; coulda broke my neck. I'm better now, though, so nothing to worry about. Healed my own damn leg when the school nurse's back was turned, because I sure as hell wasn't going to drink an unknown potion they just foisted on me."

"I thought they said Hogwarts was the best school in the world," Shaun said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, taking another sip of his drink.

"Makes you wonder how bad every other school is," Harry agreed.

"How are the staff even still employed?" asked Romy, incredulous. "If they were at university, they would be sacked already."

"I'm guessing it's because Dumbledore, the headmaster, has final say over staffing and nobody can make him do anything," speculated the boy. "Otherwise, it would mean all the professors in every institution of magical learning is even worse than what's at Hogwarts."

"That makes sense," said Romy with a sigh, shaking her head sadly.

"So, where's Karen?" Harry asked, looking around. "Thought she'd be here like last year."

"Oh, right, you wouldn't know," Shaun said. "She's famous now."

"What?" asked the boy, dumbfounded.

"A week after you left, she was cast as the face of a national advert campaign for K.F.C.," Romy explained. "After the advert was on the telly last week, she's gotten a lot of interest from casting agents who want her for parts."

"To cut up and sell on the black market?"

"They're casting agents, not organleggers."

"What's the difference?"

"Fair point," capitulated the noirette, and the room was filled with chuckles for the moment.

"What're we talking about?"

The fivesome in the back turned towards the who had just spoken, and Harry almost failed to recognize the speaker. Gone from her cheeks was the baby fat, replaced by tapering lines, and her brown hair, once a solid shade and a brittle from repeated washings and blow-drying, had cocoa and sand-colored highlights and looked like spun silk dipped in lustrous dark chocolate. Even in her casual clothes, she radiated glamour and an easy charm, and Harry could see why she was such a great hit with the public.

"You look good, Karen," he said. "Did you lose some weight?"

"A little bit," said the woman, as she sauntered over to him, smiling the entire time as she enfolded him in a hug. "I missed you, 'Squeak."

"Me too, Karen," Harry said, returning the embrace as the actress kissed the top of his head. "Hear you're a star now."

"It's nothing," said the brunette lightly with a bright smile.

"So, what're you up to these days?" asked Harry.

"Well, I'm not supposed to say, but…" Karen started, then stopped herself, fidgeting.

"You're clearly dying to say it," Jason said, and the others in the room nodded.

"I've got cast for a small recurring part on _Corrie_!" the actress gushed.

"What?" asked Harry, as the others started to congratulate the brunette.

"_Coronation Street_," explained Jason, the only person to understand Harry's confusion. "It's a popular show in the telly."

"Oh," said Harry, before turning to Karen. "Congratulations. I'm glad you're finally getting closer to your dreams; it couldn't have happened to a nicer person."

"I'm right here, 'Squeak," the actress said, smiling at the awkwardness, before reaching into her handbag, digging around for a moment before pulling out a small, paper-wrapped rectangular package and placing it in the boy's hands. "Merry Christmas, Harry."

"Well, shit, I didn't get you anything," said the boy, clearly as uneasy as everybody else in the back of the store.

"But you already did," said Karen, touching the middle of her chest, and Harry understood immediately what she meant.

"Well, that wasn't a Christmas gift," Harry said, stowing the package in his haversack. "Will you all be here tonight?" he asked, and received nods all around. "I'm going to do some last minute Christmas shopping, but I'll be back for the Christmas movie marathon. Wouldn't want to miss that for the world."

"Ye don't hae tae gie us gifts," protested Jack. "Yoo're still a wee laddie."

"You've all done really nice things for me, so it'd only be right."

Before anybody else could lodge any more protests, Harry was gone, having dashed out the back of the store before any more concerns could be voiced.

**~ooOoo~**

Harry awoke to a crick in his neck and groaned, rolling out of the sofa and landing on the floor, a tangle of blankets and limbs, the thud of the impact dampened by the layer of bedding wrapped around him.

He did not remember falling asleep, but it must have been during the Christmas movie marathon. Slowly clambering to his feet, he gingerly rubbed the humping forming on his head and looked around.

Jack was sprawled backwards in a recliner, mouth opened and snores softly escaping her lips; nearby, Romy was slumped over at the table, her arms pillowing her head as a line of saliva trickled past her parted lips and onto the table, a blanket draped over her shoulders. As Harry completed his turn, he saw Karen still asleep on the sofa he had just rolled off of, huddling slightly to herself, obviously a little cold, and he freed himself from the blankets, carefully covering her in them before letting himself into the restroom.

As he entered the front of the store, Harry was greeted by the sight of Jason at the counter, a newspaper in hand while a mug with steam coming off it sat on a magazine just next to him.

"Mornin' 'Squeak," said the shopkeeper. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Harry said with a smile, reaching into his bag and pulling out a small, gift-wrapped box and sliding it across the counter to Jason, who stopped it with one hand.

"What's this?" asked the man, after he opened the package.

"You gave me a knife, I give you knife," Harry said, nodding towards the object laying inside the opened box.

"You got me a friction folder?" asked the man, as he flipped the knife open, the tang sliding to a rest inside the wooden handle.

"Something like that," Harry said, grinning widely. "It's not just any friction folder though. You got anything you don't mind getting cut? Preferably something big, heavy and really solid?"

Jason's brow furrowed for a moment, then he reached under the counter, coming back with a chipped brick.

"Got ahead, give it a cut," said Harry, and he watched as the man skeptically press the knife against the surface of the fire-hardened clay, only for his eyes widen as the metal sliced into it with the ease of a hot knife through butter.

"What is this?" asked Jason.

"Monoknife," Harry said, grinning. "I remembered reading about it in the _Cyberpunk 2020_ rulebook, figured one might be useful someday."

Jason held the knife edge-side up as he looked down the length of the blade, one eye closed. "Where did you get this?"

"I made it," Harry said, still smiling. "Remember, it'd be illegal to sell me one."

"You made a monoknife?" Jason reiterated, and the boy nodded. "With magic?" Harry nodded again. "Listen, you've just created a bleeding edge technology that can literally cut anything. Don't ever tell or show anybody else this, or they'll try to take advantage of you and it, and it won't end well. This is the kind of thing that can change the balance of power in the world."

"All right," said Harry. "I might make myself one later though; as you said, it'll cut through anything, and that'll be useful."

"And dangerous to use," warned Jason. "The edge cut brick without any effort."

"I know, that's why it's a friction folder," Harry said. "When the blade is sharp enough to cut between molecules, I couldn't make a scabbard it wouldn't cut through."

"Smart," Jason said. "Coffee?"

"No, thanks," said Harry, wrinkling his nose at the thought. "Too bitter. Plus, I don't use drugs."

"What'd you do with the marijuana I shipped you? I trust you didn't use it yourself."

"Lord no. Sold the buds for profit, and then struck an agreement for profit-sharing for the seeds; when Longbottom starts selling the product he's growing in his garden, I stand to make twenty percent of the profits. Also told him about edibles, which I could probably produce if asked, and that might increase how much I earn out of the arrangement.

"Basically, bought myself an ally, except he paid me in gold and thanked me for the opportunity to become a junkie."

The two turned as the door from the back opened and Jack wobbled forth, rubbing her eyes groggily as she swayed from side to side.

"Think fast," Harry called as he reached back into his haversack. Instinctively, the strawberry blonde's hands came upwards, ready to catch, and she was not wrong, as a lumpy package flew across the room, landing neatly in her grasp.

Lazily, she tugged at the packaging, filling the quiet, closed store with the sound of paper tearing a little bit at a time, until all she was left holding was a pillow.

"What's thes?" asked the programmer.

"It's for when you're sitting at your chair," the boy explained. "You're always saying how much your back hurts, so I thought I'd make you a cushion for your back that uses magic to slowly release heat to keep your muscles relaxed, and, if it gets very cold, you could put it in your bed to keep warm at night."

"Cheers, 'Squeak," said Jack with a yawn, before looking to Jason. "Gonnae gie-us some coffee, Jason?"

Without a word, the shopkeep poured a mug and slid it along the counter; as it came to the end, the Scotswoman caught the drink just before it fell, bringing it to her lips and blowing on it for a moment before taking a slow sip.

A comfortable silence hung in the room as Jack and Jason drank their coffee and Harry went around the store, gathering a pile of books before bringing them to the register. "Ring me up?"

"You already have some of these," Jason noted, as he started scanning the barcodes.

"Those are for Hermione," Harry told him. "She wants to try GMing, plus she's started learning the Hermetic method, so it'd be good for her to have her own set of books."

"You showed her? Can you trust her?" asked Jason, clearly concerned as he scanned the stickers on the stack of books.

"Didn't have much of a choice at the time," said the boy with a shrug. "It was magic, or be killed by a giant that she called a troll. After that, I made her swear she'd always keep all my secrets, which is actually vague enough to cover more than what it does now, then sealed the pact in blood, and blood is one of the most powerful reagents for binding contracts."

"Does she know she made one?" Jason asked, eyes narrowing at the mention of blood magic.

"No," Harry said, a faint smile on his lips. "I may have sworn I'd always tell her the truth, but only when she asks for it, and not always the whole truth."

Silence hung in the air as the implications sank in.

"You better not do anything immoral or unethical to her," Jason warned the boy in a low growl.

"I was taught better than that," Harry growled back. "She's one of us."

"One of us?" asked Jason.

"She knows about the Hermetic arts," Harry said. "That makes her one of us."

"That's arbitrary," said the shopkeep.

"Most delineations are," countered the boy, and Jason had no retort.

Another moment of silence hung in the air. Then, "Whit did ye gie Sean?"

"He likes Guinness and scotch, so I made him a crystal pint glass and a crystal tumbler enchanted to keep liquid in them chilled," Harry said. "They were pretty easy to make; just used the same runes as I did with my ice boxes but without making it a closed system so it wouldn't freeze over."

The sound of the door opening brought the three in the front room turning towards the back, and Romy wandered forth, yawning as she scratched her belly under her T-shirt. "Mornin'."

Morning greetings echoed around the room as Jason finished scanning the books Harry wanted to purchase while Romy got herself a cup of hot coffee, pouring in cream and spooning in sugar. "One hundred fifty-five pounds," said the shopkeep.

Harry frowned. "That's more than three hundred pounds worth of books there," he observed.

"Consider everything you're not giving Hermione as a gift as a Christmas present," Jason said.

"You're being far too generous," Harry argued.

"I've more than made up for it in commissions when you convert the gold to pounds," countered the shopkeep.

"Speaking of which, I need to sell another five hundred gold pieces," said the boy, the named amount of coins falling out of the pouch around his neck and into his palm as he spoke.

"Why do you need a hundred thousand pounds?" Jason asked.

"Aunt and uncle sold 4 Privet Drive and vanished into the aether," Harry said. "I need to buy my own place and get it done up to be a secure location."

"A newly built house goes for about sixty-four thousand when I looked last month," Jason said. "You could buy a modern but lived-in place for about fifty-five."

"I'll still need the rest to for upgrading security," Harry said. "I'm only going to be here for two weeks, so I'm thinking I'll buy the property before I head back to school, then hire Shaun and his boys for the remodel. State-of-the-art locks, bulletproof glass windows, replace any cheap doors with ones made of solid hardwood or maybe even industrial steel, things like that."

"Not a bad idea," Jason said. "You're going to need a place to live when you're not at school, and there's no reason not to purchase property and have your money work for you. Where are you staying for the two week you are back?"

"I'll check The Footman later to see if they have any rooms available," said the boy as he finally took the books from the counter and placed most of them into his haversack, then retrieved a roll of wrapping paper and a dispenser of clear tape, carefully wrapping the remaining books in a parcel and taping it together, scrawling something onto the package before sticking two fingers into his mouth and whistling.

After a moment, Luke flew into the store through a high window just large enough to allow the snowy owl entry and landed on a perch by the register, eyeing the boy as if to ask where he had been the past four months. Harry simply jerked a thumb towards the package, and the owl gave him a look before winging his way off the perch to the parcel, taking it in his talons before departing to make the delivery.

"So, what're your plans for today 'Squeak?" asked Romy, looking more lively now she had consumed a sufficient amount of hot caffeinated beverage fully awaken.

"Actually, I've an experiment I want to run with you," Harry said, as he pulled a large, round package from his haversack and rolled it towards the graduate student, who stopped it with her foot before it could collide with her.

"What's this?" asked the chemistry student.

"A complete collection of the equipment you'd need to brew potions and some ingredients," explained the boy. "I have a theory: anybody can make potions with the right tools, ingredients and instructions."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Well, I haven't been able to cast any of the magic they teach in school, but Potions is still my best subject, even though I'm not doing anything with it, magic-wise. That leads me to believe the source of the magic used to make potions is within the ingredients themselves and maybe even the process, but not the maker, since I've got a pretty good feel for the flow of Astral power when it leaves my body."

Romy pondered the suggestion for a moment, then shrugged. "Let's give it a go," she said. "I've few things I need to do today, but I've got the weekend off."

"I guess that works," said the boy, smiling.

"Sae, what're yer plans fur th'day?" asked Jack, taking another sip of coffee.

Harry shrugged. "What do normal people do on Christmas day?" he asked. "This is the first Christmas I've had away from my aunt and uncle, and that family's never been _that _normal."

"There's ice skating, baking cookies, making snow angels and snowmen, go to church, build gingerbread houses, go caroling, play board games, watch movies...," said Karen, ticking them off on her fingers as she entered from the back, looking nothing like she had just been through wardrobe and makeup and nothing like having just crawled out of bed.

As the "Good morning"s and "Merry Christmas"es went around the room, Harry retrieved a small black box from his haversack and, when he had the actress's attention, tossed it to her. Catching it, she opened it and nearly stopped as her mouth opened in surprise.

"They're beautiful!" said Karen in delight before she turned the case around to expose the pair of matching stud-style earrings; the base of each was a silvery metal, formed in the shape of ᚢ, _uruz_, the old Norse rune for physical health, freedom, courage and independence, while labradorescent stones were seated snugly in the castings.

"They must have cost you a lot of money," said Karen as she removed her earrings and replaced them with the gifts.

"Didn't cost me much, actually; aside from the studs, I already had all the materials on hand," Harry said. "Thought they'd go with the necklace."

"They're lovely," the actress said, giving Harry a hug.

"So, who's up for breakfast?" Harry asked, as he pulled a portable stove, a cast iron skillet, cooking utensils and a bag of groceries from his haversack, grinning widely. "Come on, it's only Christmas once a year."

**~ooOoo~**

It was Christmas night, and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was worried.

House elves had delivered James' invisibility cloak to young Harry's room the previous night as he had instructed, so Dumbledore secreted himself in the room where the Mirror of Erised had been installed; for any other student, he could easily locate them through the system of wards encompassing Hogwarts Castle, but with young Harry Potter, it was as though he simply was nowhere on the grounds, so it necessary for Dumbledore to be present to ensure young Harry found the Mirror and saw what he desired most of all.

Except there had been no sign of young Harry even after midnight had passed; knowing Harry, he must have used the invisibility cloak to gain access to the library's restricted section, but many of the restricted books were carefully warded with alarms, so surely he would trip one and be forced to flee to where he had instructed Argus to patrol that evening, and thus be funneled to the Mirror of Erised.

The package containing his father's invisibility cloak was meant to provoke a longing for family in young Harry, and finding the Mirror of Erised would show him visions of what the cloak would make him long for, which move him along the path nicely. Yet, when the Headmaster of Hogwarts went to the library, Dumbledore found it wholly undisturbed, not even the restricted collection, where young Harry would certainly look for books on learning to use magic, given he would have already exhausted the rest of the collection's volumes on the subject; the boy had not went exploring the one remaining place in the library he had yet to search for books on how to use magic, and it puzzled Dumbledore.

After all, with his history, learning magic must be the most important thing in young Harry's life.

Maybe he was more Gryffindor than Dumbledore had given him credit for, and was instead taking the opportunity to explore the rest of the castle in the cover of darkness.

And so, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore returned to room with the Mirror, to lay in wait for the appearance of Harry Potter.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Everybody's life getting better because of Harry's exposure to the the Magical World is something I plan on as a theme for this story. Harry might be a dick, but overall, he makes life better for the people around him.

With his truncated childhood, receiving gifts isn't as important for this version Harry as giving them. Functional, thoughtful gifts too.

Yes, Harry's familiar with _Cyberpunk 2020_, which was originally published August 1990. In fact, he's pretty familiar with most tabletop RPGs published during his time.

As a sufferer of chronic lower back pain, I'd kill to have a pillow like the one Harry gave Jack.

And the prize of the first of Harry's friends to receive magical mental protection goes to... Karen North. Seemed like a good idea to give her something that matched the necklace.

It seems like a logical idea for Harry to buy property; more on the details of that to come, including legal ramifications.

More expectation versus reality with Dumbledore. He really should have gotten to know his "pawn" better.

Review, PM, etc. Like a card mechanic, you all know the deal by now.

Credit to Shinshikaizer for the original story pitch and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Furthermore, my thanks to Romantically Distant for additional editing and proofing.


	24. Material World

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 24: Material World**

* * *

Flint, oil, sulfur, beeswax, wool, soot, water, rock crystals, feathers, red cloth, butter, sheet iron, gum arabic, straw, legume seeds, earth, lodestones, tallow, ground mica, phosphorous, lime, spiderweb, horsehair, dust, glass beads, glow worms, quartz, bacon rinds, licorice root and sand.

Harry checked the list one last time to make sure it included everything he wanted to acquire in what was left of the two weeks of holiday, then folded it and slipped it the chest pocket of his button-up shirt. As he had expected, he had been able to secure a room at the Footman for the fortnight he was back in town, but he expected he would not be there often, as it was not a secure enough location to do all the things he wanted to.

Some of the things he wanted to acquire would be easy to find in stores; others, like soot, he could produce himself with a little work. He also knew Romy had access to chemicals like phosphorus and sulfur in the laboratories at both her place of employment and at school, but whether he would be able to acquire some through her remained a question to be answered. Feathers, he could get for free; in fact, he already had the feathers Leia and Luke had molted earlier in the year packed away in his haversack, and he could think of several things he could do with them besides magic.

The encounter with the troll had opened Harry's eyes to the necessity of expanding his repertoire of spells beyond what he could cast with only gestural and spoken components; this meant he would need material components for his spellcasting, and that meant procuring specific substances that would make further spell research possible. He had the _Player's Guide_ as a reference manual, but ultimately, he would need to fuel the research and development with his own time and energy.

When he went shopping on Christmas Eve, Harry had made sure to take the opportunity to purchase some things for himself, namely a well-fitting leather belt, a case of test tubes with accompanying stoppers and enough vertical tactical belt holsters to go around his waist. He had also spent nearly two thousand pounds on a Motorola MicroTAC 9800X mobile phone, a large rectangular gadget with a flipping mouthpiece that would allow him to call others without having to rely on a landline, which he might not have if he was out doing things with his day.

Now, it was Boxing Day, and the shops were open again, and it was another chance for him to acquire more things he needed. Not just the list of materials, either; his lack of success hunting meant he would either need to acquire better weaponry or increase the size of his stores, though doing both was also not a bad idea.

Harry checked his watch; if he left now, he'd be just in time to catch the first train into London.

**~ooOoo~**

Saturday morning saw Harry in the back room at Bourne's Comics and Games, the ventilation system running on full blast. Romy had left the potioneering kit he had gotten her for Christmas there, having made clear her lack of desire to try to brew potions in the flat she shared with flatmates in case something went wrong, and Jason had been kind enough to offer them the use of the back room for their experiments, though not without pointing out the mop, bucket, broom, dustpan and fire extinguisher first.

Romy was reading the instructions he had neatly printed onto a piece of notebook paper; she had insisted Harry not tell her what the result of the recipe was meant to create, wanting to make it a blind test, and he had agreed to her terms. Still, seeing her in a lab coat, head cover, safety goggles, apron, face mask and heavy rubber gloves, Harry couldn't help but be reminded of a mad scientist out of a weird science story about to embark on some chemistry experiment.

As Harry watched, the graduate student lit the fire under the cauldron and filled it with the water the recipe specified; not wanting to start a bonfire indoors, the two had rigged together several bunsen burners to provide their experiment with heat, using a couple tanks of propane for fuel, and they being something Romy was familiar with only furthered worked in their favor.

While waiting for the water to reach a simmer, Romy worked the mortar through the standard potion ingredients, a mixture of dried herbs, needed for the recipe; from the way she used the pestle, he could tell she had spent a lot of time using the tool. Once she finished, she carefully placed the powdered herbs to a beaker, using the bathroom sink to wash out the pestle and mortar before patting them dry, first with a washcloth, then sheets of paper towels.

She repeated the process with the next ingredient that needed to be ground into a fine powder; when she finished, she set it aside, and with the cauldron having reached a simmer, she added the ground herbs from the beaker, stirring carefully with a glass rod before taking it out, wiping it dry and setting it down on the towel, then returned to the preparation of ingredients while the mixture simmered over a medium heat.

Observing Romy was instructional for Harry: not only did she work with meticulous diligence, the graduate student also remained one step ahead of the procedures during the entire sixty-minute period of the experiment, staying busy either preparing ingredients or cleaning equipment. When the brewing period expired, everything the chemistry major used in the proceedings had been cleaned and returned to their proper places. Her cutting of ingredients had been measured and precise, every piece turning out the exact same dimensions, and he realized her skills were ones he could only aspire to at the moment.

As they waited for the brew to air cool, the graduate student explained her thought process to the boy, comparing notes with Harry, who had made the potion himself, though far less skillfully, during a double session of Potions in November. Though their methods differed, their philosophies had matched, both following the age-old adage of "measure twice, cut once".

"So, what exactly is this?" asked Romy, once the solution had cooled to room temperature and the two decanted it into vials Harry had purchased for the experiment.

"They call it Manegro Potion," said the boy with a shrug. "It's like Rogaine, except it works instantly instead of three three to six months."

"And how do you intend to test if it works?" asked the graduate student.

"Toby's been complaining about going bald since July," Harry said. "He still talking about it?"

"Every time he comes by to buy the new issues that came out."

"He usually comes around early Saturday morning, right? That should be today."

Romy checked her wristwatch. "He should already be here."

"Well, I'll go check," Harry said, smirking mischievously as he palmed a fistful of vials. "Can you put away the rest of this stuff?"

Before the graduate student could protest, the boy bounced out of the back room, quickly scanning the store for his target. Spotting the lanky early-thirties man at one of the milk crates holding issues of Marvel comics, the fluorescent light reflected off his shaved head, he bounded over, keeping a look of innocence on his face.

"Toby," said Harry in a familiar tone as he closed on the patron, grinning widely. "What's it been? Three months?"

"It has, hasn't it?" said the man, as he considered the boy. "Boarding school been good?"

"At least I haven't been sacrificed to the great god Imohotep yet," Harry replied with a shrug, before changing the subject, putting on his best earnest face. "Listen, chummer, Romy's been working on something like Rogaine, but completely herbal, and she's got finished product, but she can't afford to pay for clinical trials or human testing."

"What do you need me for?" asked the patron. "I don't have the money to invest…"

"No, nothing like that," Harry interrupted, presenting a vial of what Romy had managed to brew. "You've been bitching about losing your hair, so I thought you might be interested in trying this."

"Just one?" the man asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Well, I can get more, but I'd need a commitment from you first," Harry said, lowering his voice. "Wasn't easy to get Romy to agree to this; she doesn't think you've got the stones for it."

On hearing Romy's supposed questioning of his manhood, the man stiffened, his expression hardening in resolve. "Give it to me," he said, and Harry easily handed over the vial. The man unscrewed the cap, smelling the contents of the vial, then asked, "How do I use this?"

"It's like Rogaine, so orally," Harry said, glad he had managed to hook the comic book reader.

"What about side effects?"

"Well, you'll be the first human test subject, so we don't know," Harry lied. "But we doubt there'll be anything dangerous, given the ingredients involved. Maybe a few cramps or a little diarrhea."

The man scrutinized the boy for a moment, then shrugged, throwing back his head and swallowing the vial's contents, gritting his teeth and shaking his head as the brew went down.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the man suddenly began sprouting thick golden hair from his scalp, locks cascading down past his ears and shoulders, finally coming to a stop half-way down his back.

"This… this is impossible!" said the man after a moment. "What is this, magic?"

"Well, that's rude," Harry remarked. "Romy dedicates seven years of her life to studying chem, and you immediately credit it to magic. I bet she'll cry when I tell her about it."

"But this shouldn't be possible!" the man protested.

"Well, reality begs to differ," said the boy, gesturing to the man's cascading locks. "Maybe it's a miracle drug?"

"But a miracle drug can't act this fast!"

"Apparently, it does."

Stunned silence hung in the air for a moment; out of the corner of his eye, Harry could make out Jason trying to hold in his laughter at the exchange.

"Well, as much as I'm glad to have hair again, this way too much," the man said. "I'm going to go get a haircut."

"Sounds like a plan," Harry agreed.

"Thanks for this, mate."

"Null sweat, chummer."

Once the patron left, Jason stopped trying to hold it in, belly laughing loudly. "So, a miracle baldness cure, huh?" he said, after he managed to catch his breath.

"Something like that," Harry said, grinning himself.

"Well, your fast talk is still good," the shopkeep said. "Been using it much?"

"A bit," Harry said. "It's a good way to convince people of stuff by keeping them off balance."

"It's a good skill to have," Jason agreed.

"Karen's is better, though," said the boy.

"Well, she's an actress, and she does improv, so it damn well better be," the proprietor argued.

"You're probably right," Harry conceded. "I should get back to Romy and let her know the results."

"She was probably watching on the CCTV," Jason said. "I had some put them in, in October, because when we were getting hit by a rash of shoplifters."

"Huh, did not notice."

"You weren't meant to."

"I'm usually pretty observant."

"They can make cameras pretty small these days."

"How small?"

"Only the lens needs to be visible; the guts can be hidden elsewhere."

"Well, that makes sense. Still, got to talk to Romy."

"You do that."

Harry let himself into the back room, where he found Romy closing the doors on an armoire that had been in the back room for as long as he could remember, though he could not remember it ever being in use for storage. Instantly, he made the leap.

"Catch all of that on CCTV?" he asked.

"Jason told you?"

"Something like that. So, what do you want to with the potion?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't need it, and you made it, so you should keep it."

"Really? Are you sure? You paid for the ingredients."

"I've got a full head of hair, and I can make hair grow with magic anyways."

"If I take it, I'm going to run lab tests on it."

"Go for it, and if you can replicate it in the lab, you should."

"Are you sure?"

"If you can replicate it in a scientific lab, it's a chemical compound, maybe a pharmaceutical drug. It can help people, so why not use it to help people? No reason why something that only being used to benefit less than one percent of the population because of their elitism shouldn't be available for the masses."

"You're right."

"You might want to water it down, though. Having hair grow out instantly would really raise suspicions… Maybe something akin to a millimeter per dose?"

"That's… a really good idea."

"Can I borrow your pestle and mortar?"

"What for?"

"I found these peppers in the Forbidden Forest. Dried them out the last couple months, so I'm thinking of crushing them up and making a solution out of them to put in a spray bottle, like a homemade pepper spray. Might be useful after the incident in October."

"You do that. I'm going to head to the lab and try to at least get started on the analysis."

"Later, chummer."

**~ooOoo~**

Harry had wanted to start house hunting right away, but Jason had suggested he hold off; as a minor of only eleven years, he was not yet legally allowed to own property, meaning he'd have to put it in some other name on the deed until he reached majority, and so Jason had suggested he use a holding company to purchase and own property until he reached eighteen, since he could legally own shares in a company despite being a minor. He had agreed to the suggestion, and Jason had started the paperwork on Boxing Day, but it had still taken until the second day of January for the paperwork to be processed, even after a few palms had been greased; as it turned out, liquidating five hundred gold pieces into pounds sterling had been a faster affair.

So, with only three days left on holiday, Harry was finally being shown properties by an estate agent, and though he was accompanied by Karen, who was ostensibly looking a house herself; the ultimate decision on the purchase was up to Harry, and he was carrying sixty-five thousand pounds in stacks of banknotes wrapped with currency straps in his haversack for when was ready to pay for a purchase. He would have preferred Ethan's economics advice, but he was spending time with his wife and two daughters, so Harry settled for whoever was available on short notice.

It was the third house they had seen that day Harry decided was the one, a two-story, three-bedroom, two bathroom affair that had just finished construction in November and had yet to be lived in. The entire ground floor had an open floor plan, but still had enough surfaces to provide tactical cover in the case of a firefight, and he could see the possibilities of what it could become once it was properly furnished. It even had a full basement, but most importantly, it was only a ten minute walk away from Bourne's Comics and Games.

"What'd you think about this place?" Harry asked Karen, wanting to make her feel included even though he had no real intention of weighing her opinion in his decision.

"It's really nice," Karen said. "I really like the way the kitchen and dining room are open and the stairs serve as a divider between that, the foyer and the living room area."

"I like it too," Harry said, glad at the way it turned out. "I think this is the one."

"Are you sure?"

"Am I ever not?"

"That's fair," said the actress, before turning to the estate agent. "How much is this property?"

"Sixty-four thousand pounds," said the estate agent, a primly-dressed woman in her forties.

"You'll sell it to us for fifty-eight thousand," Karen said, smiling.

"Why would I do that?" asked the estate agent, incredulous.

"We'll pay for it in cash," said the actress, and the boy pulled out a stack of banknotes to demonstrate the point.

The estate agent swallowed at the prospect of the quick sale. "Shall we return to the office to process the paperwork?"

**~ooOoo~**

"You want to do _what_?" asked Shaun, after he had looked over the interior of the house on Friday morning.

"I want the carpet torn out and floor boards put in," Harry started, ticking it off on his fingers. "Doors need to be replaced with something high end and secure, either solid wood or some kind of steel construction. Locks need to be replaced too; I want the best money can buy, and at least two per door. Walls need to be either wood paneling, brick or concrete, and sound-proof and bullet-proof; same with the windows. I'll be adding additional wards when I get back from boarding school, but the windows will need security bars. The basement will need ventilation; I'm going to turn it into a workspace for my other stuff. Master bedroom and basement doors will need additional locks. Oh, and I want murder holes put into the upstairs hallway floor to line up with the foyer downstairs, but placed so they can be covered up with a rug."

The construction foreman took a few moments to digest what the boy had just told him. "What are you building, a fortress?" he asked.

"Something like that," Harry said with a wry smile. "More a safe house, really. If the bogeyman comes for me again, I want to be ready this time."

"Smart," said Shaun, nodding in approval. "What's the timeline and budget?"

"This needs to be done by end of May, which should give enough time for the place to be furnished before the term ends for me in mid-June. As for finance, I'm leaving a hundred thousand pounds with Ethan, but don't forget you're a shareholder in Irregulars Security Investments too, so the faster and cheaper we turn this around without cutting corners, the faster we can turn a profit on renting a room out."

"If this place is for renting out, we don't need the renovations," Shaun reasoned.

"I'm planning to live here during holiday," Harry said. "I'd rather it be secure."

"That's fair."

"So, when can your people start on it?"

"Monday is the earliest," Shaun said, after checking a notebook. "I'm sure the owner will be willing to put a team on this project once the down payment is made."

"Ethan's going to handle the money on this project, but if there's anything logistical or layout questions, asked Jason," Harry said. "He's always had the best eye for designing safe houses when he played Shadowrun with us."

Shaun nodded.

**~ooOoo~**

Sunday morning, Harry checked his inventory one last time before checking out of the Footman; unlike when he left home at the end of August, he was going to be more prepared this time. He had restocked his stock of canned and dried foods and even added several sacks of dried lentils and beans. He had also prepared ten ice chests of frozen meat and another four of frozen fruits and vegetables; he had gone to school thinking he would only be cooking for himself only occasionally, but he was now returning knowing full well he could only rely on himself for food.

He had even managed to figure out how to enchant a container to maintain a cool but not freezing temperature, something he had achieved by combining the original freezing enchantment he had used to create the original ice chests with a much smaller fire enchantment made by etching the Greek and Roman symbol for the classical element of fire, △, into the inside of the lid and inlaying it with fire opal; somehow, even though he could not explain why, by intermixing the multiple traditions and languages, he had managed to create an environment that would never rise above four degrees centigrade or fall below one degree Celsius, making it perfect conditions for short-term food storage.

Producing another monoknife had been easy after he had made the first one; it was simply a matter of purchasing a high-carbon paring knife with a ten centimeter blade, stripping away the handle scales and then using spontaneous magic to reshape the metal; once the tang was the desired form and pins were added to the bolster, he produced a new handle from additional steel and set the blade inside it, testing repeatedly to ensure it would remain in both the open and closed configurations before finally using magic to refine the blade's edge to the thickness of a single molecule.

Turning the peppers he had found in the Forbidden Forest into a pepper spray was a simple task; once he had ground the dried fruit into a fine powder with pestle and mortar, he gave a small sample of it to Romy, who insisted she use high-performance liquid chromatography to determine the pepper's level of spiciness rather than allowing Harry to determine it by taste, a decision proven prudent when the results showed it to be over five million Scoville heat units, hotter than any pepper in the normal world. Afterwards, he ground down some black pepper, adding it to the pepper he had found in Forbidden Forest and then pulverized at home, steeping the resulting mixed powder in water he slowly brought to a boil. After the resulting brew cooled back to room temperature, he decanted it into several small, hermetically-sealed spray bottles before distributing them to his Irregulars for self-defense and keeping a few for himself.

Most importantly, though, he checked the belt pouches and the test tubes within; Romy had come through with the materials he needed, using her position at her job to help him purchase some from a vendor, and he had managed to procure the rest at either a department store, a home and garden center, or a specialist store.

The coming term was going to be a lot of hard work, but that wasn't something he was afraid of. After all, without hard work, where would he be?

Nowhere, that's where.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Those of you with copies of the _Player's Handbook_ for 2nd Edition D&D can now look up what new spells Harry's going to research and learn.

You had to know Romy being a chemistry major would have a pay-off. If she can figure out the Manegro potion, which appears in _Harry Potter: The Trading Card Game_, and can replicate it in a lab, she's going to be filthy rich with the only baldness cure that's guaranteed to work.

The theorycraft behind as to why Romy can make potions is that the process of potion-making is based entirely on the ingredients and the methodology; as Harry suspected, the magic used in the making of potions is drawn directly from the ingredients themselves rather than the individual brewing the potion, which is why it's his best subject, because all he needs to do is follow recipes, almost like it was right out of a cookbook. As for why potions react badly when the wrong ingredients are used or ingredients are prepared improperly, that's based more on the central premise of magic working because people believe it will work, and somebody who makes either mistake despite having the proper recipe would subconsciously know they're committing an error.

I had a lot of fun writing glib, fast-talking, con artist Harry; he's my favorite version of Harry to write because he gets to be bright, snappy and witty, which contrasts greatly with his normally more somber tone. Toby isn't a recurring character, but Harry would certainly know the name of the non-gaming regulars who are patrons of Bourne's Comics and Games.

When I was doing research into property laws in the U.K., I was surprised to learn that minors could not own real estate in Britain, but could own companies.

And of course Jason would be the one to know how to set up holding companies and shell corporations. Because that's what Jason does, knowing the shady and illegal stuff.

There's a certain level of paranoia that goes into building a safehouse; I know this from building safehouses across various tabletop RPGs, including _Hunter: The Vigil_, _Spycraft 2.0_, _Shadowrun_, and _Cyberpunk 2020_. In many ways, Harry's new place of residence is like an ideal safehouse from those games, albeit scaled back to a 1990s technology level.

And that's why Shaun is a builder. Everybody is useful.

Food will become more of a sticking point in the future; for now, it's more background, but it's important to Harry in ways that haven't been explained yet.

Harry making stuff is another thing I really enjoy writing, because it gives me a chance to show off thought process and research.

I specifically chose to make the pepper Harry found in the Forbidden Forest hotter than any pepper found in the normal world even today; to me, for the magical world to have something growing in the wild that can easily beat what normal people had to spend years working in horticulture to produce, it's another way to demonstrate the disconnect between the magical and the normal. For reference, the hottest pepper as of the publication of this chapter is the Carolina Reaper, which has 2.2 million Scoville. And yes, you can actually produce pepper spray in the method Harry did, but it won't last for that long because you probably won't be using a hermetically sealed spray bottle.

Review, PM... like a bookie paying out, you know the score.

Credit to Shinshikaizer for the original story pitch and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Furthermore, my thanks to Romantically Distant for additional editing and proofing.


	25. Right Tool

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 25: Right Tool**

* * *

Harry considered the parcel at the foot of his bed. Frankly, it was weird to find an unattended package in the room he shared with Roger, and the note that did nothing to make him less suspicious of the packet.

Still, it was addressed to him, so it was his to deal with.

Frowning, he picked up the package with a sigh and examined it closely, turning it over in his hands repeatedly as he did so. It was soft and deformed easily in his grasp, giving him the impression it was fabric.

Pulling out his switchblade, he sliced the twine holding the parcel together, watching the brown paper fall away to reveal a neatly-folded pile of silvery gray fabric that quickly lost its shape as it fluidly unfurled into a pool of material on his bed, uncovering a letter.

Opening the envelope, he found a note written in narrow, loopy script he had never seen before. Reading it to himself, he frowned.

_Your father left this in my possession before he died._

_It is time it was returned to you._

_Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you._

An anonymous package from somebody claiming to know his father?

All sorts of warning klaxons went off in Harry's head all at once.

His biological father was dead and could neither confirm or deny whether it was in fact his, and assuming it was even his, whether he had left it in somebody else's care prior to his death, as opposed to just having it stolen from him.

Then there was the timing, which was suspicious. Other children might see it as a simple Christmas present, but Harry knew better; the best laid traps are ones that look and taste like honey, and he was not going to fall for that.

Besides, whoever it was who had sent it to him wanted him to use it, so that was the very thing he was not going to do.

As Shaun would say, "Never take candy from a stranger."

Rolling up the silvery fabric into a limp roll, he marched it into the common room and went to find the prefect who he had spoken to last. He found older boy talking to a second year girl he vaguely recognized.

"What can I do for you, Potter?" asked the prefect after he finished his conversation.

"I'd like to donate this to Hufflepuff," said Harry, holding up the bundle in his hands.

"May I?" asked the prefect, and Harry nodded, handing it to the older boy, who held it up by one seam, letting the silvery grey material unroll fluidly like it was liquid water made into fabric.

"This is an invisibility cloak," said the prefect, voice hushed in awe. "They're very rare, and inordinately valuable. Are you sure you want to do this Potter?"

"Definitely," Harry said solemnly. "I didn't make this decision lightly."

"Well, then, it'd be only right to let everybody know," said the prefect, walking to the center of the common room. Drawing his wand from his robes, he pointed it at himself and said, "_Sonorus_."

"If I may have your attention for a moment," boomed the prefect, instantly bringing silence to the packed community room. "Mister Potter has been so generous as to donate his invisibility cloak to our house for everyone to use. If we cared about points, this was a deed worthy of many, but we don't; still, Potter deserves to be recognized for his unselfishness."

The prefect started clapping, and the other Hufflepuffs in the common room quickly joined in; somewhere from the back of the gathered students, a chant of "Speech! Speech! Speech!" began, and before long, the entire crowd was echoing it in unison, putting Harry on the spot.

Stepping up onto a table with a practiced sheepish grin, Harry held up a hand, and crowd fall into a hush, awaiting his words with bated breath.

"As you probably all know, I can't do any magic, so you're just going to have to listen real close, because this is about as loud I get without shouting," said Harry, and chuckles echoed through the room.

"Growing up, I didn't have much, just my wits, my will and the willingness to put in a lot of work," continued The-Boy-Who-Lived once the chuckles had passed. "I didn't have _any_ friends, so when I arrive at Hogwarts, I was scared I'd be all alone again, except this time in a whole new world I knew nothing about, but everyone in Hufflepuff has done so much to make me feel welcome and at home, and I just can't thank you all enough for that.

"This year was the first time I ever received Christmas presents," he continued, but stopped as a collective "Awww" flowed forth from the Hufflepuffs gathered. "I was so happy to get anything, really, but then I received this cloak with a note that said to 'use it well'.

"I can't think of a way to use it that would qualify as 'well', but I'm sure together, we can think of ways to use it to help each other and make the world a better place. You all know the saying: sixty heads are better than one."

As Harry held for cheers, laughter and applause, he smiled inwardly to himself, watching as the Hufflepuffs passed the cloak around amongst themselves, eagerly touching and examining it. He would never have trusted it enough to ever use it himself, so it was worthless to him as an invisibility cloak, but to everyone else in Hufflepuff, it was a treasure of unimaginable value, and he had just bought their gratitude and possibly the loyalty of every generation of Hufflepuff to come, depending on how the narrative was told to those who joined the house in the future, by gifting it to them.

How's that for using it well?

Besides, he didn't need the cloak to become invisible, just an eyelash, some gum arabic and a moment to himself.

After all, _invisibility_ is only a third level spell, and he was already studying well beyond that. Plus, that didn't even touch the grimoires of _Shadowrun_ or _Ars Magica_; truly, invisibility is a very common magical effect for spellcasters to achieve, and he had the books to show it.

**~ooOoo~**

"Harry, I was thinking…"

"You do that often? Critically, I mean."

"Very funny..."

It was the afternoon, after the lunch break, of the first Wednesday since they had returned from the previous break. Normally, Harry would be using the library for research purposes, but since returning from break, Hermione had insisted on spending more time studying Hermetic magic, something he couldn't really decline helping her with given their previous agreements.

They were in an abandoned classroom they had picked out just before they began the session, as was routine for their Hermetic magic workshop sessions, and this one was a spacious lecture hall, which made it ideal for working on large-scale effects; Hermione had clearly practiced religiously during the holiday, as her control of her magical power had improved drastically and she could even cast _hold portal_ with little difficulty, which she demonstrated as soon as the two had entered the classroom, using the spell to hold the door fast for nearly half a minute before the effect finally expired.

"So, what were you thinking about?" Harry asked the girl.

"Do you remember the cerberus in that room on the third floor?"

"The one standing on a trapdoor? What about it?"

"I've been reading, and cerberuses are used to guard valuables," Hermione said.

"And you're curious as to know what it's guarding?"

"Well, yes, a little bit."

"So, what are you going to do about it?"

Hermione swallowed at the challenge. "I don't know."

"Let me guess, you want me to do something about it?"

The girl blushed, embarrassed. "If you would…."

"Danger, you're a piece of work," said the boy, shaking his head ruefully. "It's all right if I call you that, right? 'Danger', I mean?"

"Yeah, it's fine, go ahead," Hermione agreed, looking a little mortified.

"Good, because honestly, 'Hermione' has way too many syllables, there's no way to shorten 'Hermione' without sounding like a complete bakebrain, and calling you 'Granger' feels a little too distant after everything we've been through together.

"So, find out what the cerberus is doing, huh?" Harry continued. "Shouldn't be too hard."

"What do you mean?" the girl asked.

"A cerberus is an exotic, magical creature, which means it'd need a specialist for care," explained the Hufflepuff. "Now, if you've really got something you want to keep safe, you wouldn't tell anyone you've got it, which means you can't go outside to hire a caretaker; you'd need from one from in-house, and here, there's only one person who'd fit the bill for that."

"Who?" Hermione asked.

"I'd say the big lunk; I don't see who else would be willing to put a dangerous dog with three heads inside a school building, and he seems the kind of bakebrain who'd see a dangerous paracritter and think 'Ooh, pet!'."

"But couldn't it be Professor Kettleburn? He teaches Care of Magical Creatures."

"Does he seem completely negligent? I mean, I've personally never met the man, but he doesn't seem like the kind of person who would be willing to endanger children on purpose; actually, besides the Flying instructor, the giant bakebrain is pretty much the only person I could think of on campus with the kind of incompetence that would put children directly in harm's way. I mean, he's done it to me before, leaving me unattended in a busy shopping district.

"And that's where we run into a problem."

"We do?"

"I'm not speaking terms with the trog, and you're no good for it."

"What do you mean?" Hermione demanded, cheeks flushed in indignation as the pitch and volume of her voice increased.

"What're you going to tell him when he asks you how you know about the cerberus?" countered Harry, cocking his head to the side as he gave the girl an inquisitive look. "You're shite at lying, which is a good thing for most people, but unfortunately, just not for this situation."

"What are we going to do, then?"

"We'll use a cutout."

"A 'cut out'?"

"Oh, right, you haven't played much _Shadowrun_, and when you have, it's always been hooding."

"What's that got to do with a 'cut out'?"

"A 'cutout' is an espionage technique, where you use an intermediary to acquire intelligence from a source, thereby keeping the source from knowing who the recipient of the intelligence is."

"Again, what's that got to do with _Shadowrun_?"

"Despite your experiences hooding, _Shadowrun_'s really about corporate espionage, which means a lot of spycraft is involved. Surveillance, use of contacts, dead drops, eavesdropping, honey traps… those are all things that come up when you've played for some time."

Hermione accepted the explanation after considering it for a moment. "I take you've somebody in mind for this?"

"I've got assets in play. I'll send them a note, and we can meet with them tomorrow after Potions."

"Speaking of Potions, how are you able to be so good at that but a failure at Charms and Transfiguration?"

"Potions is easy," the boy said with a shrug. "I ignore everything Snape says, everything that gets written on the board, and always consult the textbooks before I do anything for class. Actually, I pretty much do that for every subject; professors here can't teach for shit."

Hermione could only blink in surprise at Harry's openly defiant attitude, but she could not argue with his results; with the exception of Charms and Transfiguration, his marks his classes were only slightly behind hers, and he never received less than full marks for the theory portions in either of the courses he was failing the practical portions of. She also could guess he worked harder than anybody else she knew, given he was studying not only the Hogwarts curriculum, but also the curriculum of an equivalent normal school _and_ Hermetic magic.

Then again, she had to admit she wasn't learning anything in classes either; everything being covered, she already knew from her own reading, and from what she could tell from speaking to others at gaming club meetings before the end of last term, students who tried to learn through the lessons first invariably came away confused and behind in their studies.

**~ooOoo~**

Neville and Fay were already in front of the library by the time Harry and Hermione arrived, though it was to be expected owing to the Potions lab being in the dungeons. As the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw approached the Gryffindors, The-Boy-Who-Lived waved the two towards them without breaking stride, merging into a single group as the chubby boy and his friend fell into step with them.

Quickly, the four found an abandoned classroom and let themselves inside, Harry securing the door closed behind them once they were inside.

"What's this about, Harry?" asked Fay seriously as the raven-haired boy turned back around.

"First, introductions," Harry said, holding up a hand. "We're going to working together, so we might as well get acquainted."

Fay started to protest, but Harry cut her off, holding up a hand to silence her, before presenting the Ravenclaw to the Gryffindors.

"Fay Dunbar and Neville Longbottom, this is Hermione Granger."

The bushy-haired brunette smiled tightly and nodded, swallowing hard.

"Danger: Dunbar and Longbottom," continued Harry, turning to Hermione and gesturing towards the two Gryffindors, who bowed and curtseyed slightly, as was appropriate to them.

"'Danger'?" asked Neville quizzically.

"Harry thinks my name is too long," Hermione said, shrugging. "'Danger' rhymes with 'Granger', so I guess it tickles his fancy."

"You're the one Harry threw Weasley down a flight of stairs for," Fay said, eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the other girl. "I've seen you around in Charms and Transfiguration; the way you always get spells to work before the lesson ends is very impressive."

"Thank you," said Hermione, flushing, unused to being complimented; she knew she should feel appalled by the violence Harry had committed on her behalf, but it felt kind of nice to know he'd do that for her.

"So, what's this about?" asked Fay, returning to her original inquiry.

"I kind of need a favor," Harry said, looking down at the floor and fidgeting as though nervous. "It's a little embarrassing, really."

"How can we help?" asked Neville without hesitating.

"Well, I overheard a sixth year telling his friend there's a dog with three heads in that third floor corridor Dumbledore warned about during the Welcome Feast, and I thought I'd check it out myself and see if it's for real," said Harry, fidgeting. "The thing is, I've read a lot about them, but I figured I should ask Hagrid about them too, since he seems like the kind of person who'd be fascinated by terrifyingly dangerous critters."

"I don't see the problem," said Fay.

"Here's the thing: Hagrid and I aren't on speaking terms," said the boy. "First day we met, we got into a fight when I found out he stole something from me after my parents were killed and then kept it until just this July past. He hasn't made any attempts to apologize to me for stealing that rightfully belonged to me, and I'm not going to apologize about getting on him when I found out he stole something that belongs to me."

"You want us to ask for you," Neville surmised.

"Well, if you could…"

"You want us to keep your name out of it," Fay added.

"Yeah, if my name comes up, it might sound like I'm admitting I'm wrong, even though he's the one who committed a crime."

"Out of curiosity, if you don't mind me asking, what did he steal?" asked Fay.

"An inheritance my parents left me," Harry said darkly, leaving the details to their imaginations.

The Gryffindors exchanged sharp looks.

"That's beyond unforgivable," said Fay pointedly.

"I can see why you wouldn't want it to look like you're open to making up," Neville agreed.

"So, will you do this favor for me then?" asked Harry.

"Of course," said Neville. "That's what friends are for."

"All right, then," said Harry. "What can I do for you?"

"Pardon me?" asked Neville.

"I think Harry's the kind of person who hates being in debt to other people, so he wants to know what he can do for us in exchange for us doing him this favor," said Fay.

"Perceptive as always," Harry remarked, and the Gryffindor girl beamed with pride.

"You already helped me a lot, so I'm happy to return the favor," Neville said.

"Fair enough," said Harry, before turning back to Fay. "What about you?"

"What about me?" asked Fay.

"What can I do for you?" Harry reiterated.

Fay considered the offer for a long moment, brow furrowing as she did so. Then, her eyes lit up. "You could show me how to make that thing you used on the troll," she said.

"Jellied petrol?" asked Harry.

"Yes. That."

"Harry…," Hermione warned, speaking for the first time since being introduced, having been observing up until that point.

"I guess I could teach you, as a favor, but you'll have to supply the materials yourself," said the Hufflepuff, ignoring the Ravenclaw's warnings. "I didn't think I was going to need to make more, so I didn't bring any of the things I'd need to make it."

"What do you need to make it?" Fay asked.

"Petrol, styrofoam packing peanuts and a breathing mask," Harry said, ticking the objects off on his fingers. "The mask is extremely important; you don't want to be breathing this stuff."

"Is it dangerous?" asked Neville, still clearly having no idea what petrol was.

"It'll mess you up like you wouldn't believe," Harry told him.

Neville quickly turned towards Fay, concerned but otherwise not afraid. "Are you sure you really want to do this?" he asked. "If it's as dangerous as Harry is saying it is…"

"Of course it'd be dangerous!" countered the Gryffindor girl. "He killed a troll with it!"

"That's actually a good point," Neville admitted. "If we get those things, you'll show us?"

"Promise. Scout's honor," Harry said innocently.

"Are you even a Scout?" asked Fay, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Of course not," said Harry, smiling wickedly. "Look, you have my word, which is all you'll get in this situation, so either take it, or leave it."

The Gryffindor girl considered the deal for a moment, then nodded. "I'll get the stuff we need," she said. "I look forward to learning how to make jellied petrol."

"All right," Harry said. "So, two of you find out about three-head dogs from Hagrid, and I'll show you how to make jellied petrol when you get the materials we need."

"That's a deal," agreed Fay, and handshakes were exchanged.

"We'll meet again tomorrow in front of the library after lunch?" Neville suggested.

"That works," Harry agreed, nodding.

"See you later, then."

"Yep."

Hermione waited until the Gryffindors were gone before voicing her concerns. "Are you really going to teach them how to make napalm?" she asked, clearly concerned.

"If they can get the materials, sure," Harry said. Seeing the answer did little to allay her worries, Harry smiled reassuringly. "I looked Dunbar up over the break; her mother, the normal one in the family, has a job in the Health and Safety Executive. There's pretty much no way she's going to be coming back with petrol or a breathing mask."

"And if she does?" Hermione pressed.

"Then her parents clearly care less about her safety than you do, and if they don't care about her safety, that's really not my responsibility."

"That's not very nice," said the bushy-haired girl, her tone almost accusatory.

Harry shrugged. "It's what she wanted," he said.

"How much of what you told them is true?"

"Enough."

"Enough?"

"To get them to do what I need them to."

"It's not nice, tricking your friends," the girl huffed.

"They're not my friends," Harry said flatly.

"What?" Hermione sputtered, flabbergasted.

"I told you, they're assets," the boy said. "They're both getting what they want out of this; Longbottom gets to feel like he's returning the favor after I helped him out a few times so he gets to feel like he's paying off a debt he never actually accrued, and Dunbar gets to feel like she's part of a grand adventure. They don't need to know why they're getting what they want; in fact, the less they know, the less they'll be able to give away if they're ever asked about it."

"But they think you're their friend," the Ravenclaw pointed out.

"If they have that misconception, it's not my responsibility to disabuse them of the notion."

"You're terrible!"

"I know. Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment!"

"Says you."

"I was the one who said it!"

"You just don't know what you're saying."

Hermione took a moment to take a deep breath and compose herself.

"You're just teasing me now," she said.

"Yes, I am."

"Please stop."

"Killjoy."

Hermione said something in a language Harry didn't understand; from the sound of it, he thought it might be French, like the dialogue from _The Umbrellas of Cherbourg_. Sarah loved that film, and any good foreign film in general, much to Shaun's chagrin, because he hated having to read while watching a movie.

**~ooOoo~**

If wasn't for the spliff he had just shared with Fay just before the trip, Neville was sure he'd be a nervous wreck; as it stood, he and his best friend were inside the hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, about to do a favor for another friend, cool as a cucumber.

Speaking of cucumbers, he was feeling just a little bit peckish.

It was stuffy and dimly lit, but also cozy and warm; in a way, it reminded Neville of when he would hide in his grandmother's armoire, surrounded by her lacy things, to be safe from the monsters under his bed.

It was a comforting, nostalgic feeling.

"Sir, I have a question," said Fay, interrupting Neville's thoughts.

He appreciated her friendship; if it wasn't for Fay Dunbar, he'd only have Ron Weasley to talk to, or rather, be talked at by, and he wasn't sure that was an improvement over having no friends.

"Yeh can call me Hagrid," said the huge man, as he poured himself a cup of something dark and aromatic. "Wha' do yeh wan' ter know?"

"Is there a doggie with three heads in that third floor corridor Dumbledore warned us about?" the girl asked.

Porcelain broke as it dropped out of Hagrid's hand and onto the table beneath him.

"How do yeh know about Fluffy?"

"Fluffy?" asked Neville, surprised at the surprisingly cuddly name.

"I overheard a sixth year telling his friend about it," Fay said at the same time, repeating what Harry had told them.

"Yeah, he's mine, I leant 'im ter Dumbledore ter guard the…"

"Guard what?" asked Fay impatiently when the groundskeeper faltered.

Hagrid instantly clammed up, and Neville thought it was because he just now realized he had nearly give something away. Yet, knowing Fay, she was going to pursue it anyways.

"Don' ask me anymore," growled the big man. "Tha's top secret."

"Well, I'm going to go visit Fluffy," Fay said, cheerfully innocent. "I just love doggies. I sure hope Fluffy doesn't bite; mum always says dogs who bite people should be put down, but I don't know how I'll even pick Fluffy up."

"Now yeh listen! You forget 'bout tha' dog, an' what it's guardin'; it's dangerous, and between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel…"

Fay smiled sweetly at the Keeper of Keys, who suddenly stopped talking and looked like he was going to become violently ill.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Giving away that Invisibility Cloak seems in character for this paranoid version of Harry. Probably because trapping a gift is something he'd do in preparation of a run just to steal somebody's identity, get leverage on them or track them. That it's an Invisibility Cloak and he didn't know is besides the point; he would have given it away even if it was a cake, a portrait of his parents, a book or a computer. Plus, it's pretty meaningless to him when _invisibility_, _mass invisibility_, _invisibility, 10' radius_ and _improved invisibility_ from _Dungeons & Dragons_, _invisibility_ from _Shadowrun_, and _Invisibility of the Standing Wizard_, _Chamber of __Invisibility_ and _Veil of Invisibility _from _Ars Magica_ are all spells at his disposal.

Harry's speech was actually quite fun the write, particularly because it's just so unapologetically manipulative and full of shit, plus it there's even more of him treating people like assets to exploit, which fits who this version of him is as a person; despite the description of the story listing _Dungeons & Dragons_ as what gets him exposed to tabletop RPGs, he's very much a shadowrunner at heart.

Glib dickhead Harry is fun to write too, but it transitioning into serious Harry is something I like as a demonstration of his mercurial natural; Hermione being the driving force behind elements of the original story instead of Harry is also something I think is important, to give her agency instead of having her be along for the ride and as a tool for Harry to exploit. It's important for supporting characters to have needs and wants, which always kind of struck me as weird in the original books, like most of Harry's peers are just around Harry because he needs them to be useful, so I thought it'd be nice for Harry to be useful to people around him.

Giving people nicknames is going to be a thing with this Harry as he gets closer to them, particularly if their names are long; it's part of the reason why Rosemary Davies is "Romy" and Jacqueline Murray is "Jack", because more than three syllables is just way too many syllables, plus nicknames is a form of the psychology of becoming closer to people, as opposed to distancing language, which I have to use a lot of with Harry as narrator simply because of the way he isolates himself or when Hermione is narrator and Harry commits acts of unthinkable, shocking violence.

Yep, Harry still doesn't doesn't like Hagrid, although the explanation he gives on both counts is simply cover; if anything, he just does not want to deal with somebody he considers an absolute idiot (or "bakebrain"). Also, I thought having more callbacks to things that happen to Harry is important to making the world feel visceral and real, particularly with a Harry that would certainly hold a grudge.

More Hogwarts teacher bashing; I really don't particularly care for the methodology used at Hogwarts to teach students, mostly because it seems to employ the least skillful teachers using the least helpful methods in instructing young pupils. While the characters of the professors are all right, the teaching methodology is all kinds of crap; just like there's no way a driving instructor should allow a first-time student onto a motorcycle without much more safety regulations or a chemistry teacher give students chunks of potassium without first explaining to them first that it'll explode when exposed to water, there was no way the Flying lesson should have went down the way it did, and the Potions professors who doesn't give students warning on the dangers of what they're using, then gets angry at them when they fuck up and get hurt even though it's his fault because he didn't explain the dangers of what they were doing would most likely be fired for needlessly endangering students, and I chose to extrapolate that level of care about of student well-being to the level of care given to how well they learn, because, let's face it, if the school doesn't care whether students are safe, they probably also don't care if the students are learning.

Neville and Fay are back! So, why would Harry introduce the three people in his school life to each other? Probably because he didn't want to assume they were personally acquainted. And yes, if it wasn't clear enough by now, Harry doesn't consider Neville or Fay friends, but that doesn't mean he can't have profitable relationships with them.

As you can probably guess, Neville's gonna have some complications in the future, and not just because of the marijuana he's consuming. Seriously, kinks usually occur because of things people experience during their development. Silk & satin, anybody? That said, scatterbrain Neville is fun to write, because I get to write stream-of-conscious style while retaining a little structure.

Hagrid's accent is kind of hard to write on the fly, to a point where I ended up writing an English-to-Hagrid translator on LingoJam.

I love Fay as the little engine that could; she's brave, energetic, clever and dynamic, and a great counterpart to laid back Neville, plus I like having other clever children in the story. In fact, I like her as the one who can't stop talking while high and can't stop herself from getting organized and cleaning, as a contrast to Neville's slow talk and lethargy. Honestly, I think the versions of those two characters are a lot of fun together. Having her as the driving force in her relationship with Neville is a great counterpoint to the relationship between Harry and Hermione, where Harry is a bit more of the driver.

More than a few have accused this story of bashing Dumbledore, and frankly, that's not really my intention; this is more of a case of somebody meaning well, but not having all the facts, and it's a juxtaposition of perception versus reality. I don't actually hate Dumbledore, more that I don't like the way he was portrayed in the original stories, like he's got some sort of low-level omniscience even though he doesn't really get to know his pawn until several books into the story, so I thought I'd play on that aspect of the original dynamic to show just what happens when expectations and and reality don't line up.

Review, PM... Like a person laying on his back with their eyes open, you know what's up.

Credit to Shinshikaizer for the original story pitch and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Furthermore, my thanks to Romantically Distant for additional editing and proofing.


	26. Bonds

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 26: Bonds**

* * *

"There's definitely a three-headed dog in that corridor," Fay declared triumphantly when the four reconvened the following day in another abandoned classroom. "It's name is Fluffy, and he belongs to Hagrid."

"Huh," said Harry, rubbing his temples as he processed the information. "Of course the bakebrain would call a highly dangerous mythical beast 'Fluffy'."

"Did he say what Fluffy was doing in the third floor corridor?" asked Hermione, words rushing out of her in flood as her rapid speech betrayed her excitement despite her attempt to appear otherwise calm, though neither Gryffindor seemed to notice.

"Hagrid's loaned him to Dumbledore to guard something," Neville said lazily, taking a bite out of a pasty he had sneaked from the Great Hall during breakfast, seeming to not even notice the Ravenclaw's eagerness.

"Something about 'Nicolas Flamel'," Fay added.

"I could swear I've seen that name before," Neville said, finishing the pastry with another bite. "Don't remember where, though." His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to remember, but after a moment, he simply shrugged as indifference overtook him. "Eh..."

"Well, thanks for the help," Harry said, reaching into his haversack and taking out two brown paper bags splotched with oil stains and offering them to the Gryffindors, who took accepted the unexpected offerings, opening them up to look inside even as the scent of fryer oil, spices, cheese and meat wafted out of the bags.

"What _is_ this?" asked Neville, looking back up at Harry.

"Nachos," the Hufflepuff said, smiling widely. "Somebody I know swears by them whenever she gets the munchies, which is what it looks like you're having."

Fay didn't so much say a word as reach into the bag, scooping out a heaping portion of browned ground meat, bright white cream, gooey ivory cheese, chunks of vividly red tomato, and pale green spread with a large piece of crispy-fried flatbread, rushing it into her mouth before it could crumple under its own weight, her eyes closing almost immediately as she nearly dropped the bag, chewing slowly as she sat back in her chair, tension visibly melting away into thin air.

Beside her, Neville had already torn the bag open, revealing the pile of food in all its splendor, and was hurriedly pulling pieces from the pile and shoving them into his mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk storing food.

After a long moment, the pigtailed girl finally opened her eyes. "This is so…," she paused to search for the right expression, but all she could manage was "Yum", having clearly lost her words in her haze of culinary bliss.

"Where'd you get this?" Neville asked, morsels falling from his lips as he spoke between bites. "I've never seen anything like it in the Great Hall."

"Made it myself," Harry said. "You've got to have noticed you never see me during meals."

"I just thought you didn't eat," Neville said without thinking.

Harry decided to ignore the stupidity of that notion. "Well, you two enjoy your food," he said. "Danger and I need to revise."

The two eating Gryffindors were too preoccupied with their food to even look up, grunting and nodding in acknowledgement as Harry and Hermione departed the room.

Once they were out of the room, the Ravenclaw turned to the Hufflepuff. "We're going to try to find out who Nicolas Flamel is, right?" she asked.

"That goes without saying. Do you have a plan of attack?"

"I was thinking I'd just look for books in the library…"

"Given the way the library's organized, that's not going to be particularly easy."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"We could ask Madam Pince for help," Harry suggested. "She's a librarian, so she'd be better at working the system she's implemented than we'd be."

"That's it?" asked Hermione, stunned something so simple and thoughtless would be his plan.

"Of course not," said Harry, frowning. "I'm also going to write Martin and ask him for help too; he's a research librarian, so he's got access to resources we don't have here."

"But he doesn't know anything about magic!" Hermione protested.

"Doesn't hurt to have an extra pair of eyes and hands doing work," Harry said, not wanting to correct the girl. "Who knows, maybe Nicolas Flamel ended up in folklore or history.

"I'm also going to write every magical publisher and have them ship me every book they have that mentions Nicolas Flamel."

"That sounds expensive," Hermione said wistfully.

"Work smarter, not harder," said Harry with a shrug. "By paying publishers to send me books about a subject, what I'm paying for the books is really just a service fee for their weeding through all the things I don't need, saving my time for things I actually need to do."

"I hadn't thought of that," said the Ravenclaw, before frowning. "I can't afford that."

"Why don't we go to the library first?"

Hermione happily filled the time it took for the two to reach the library with small talk, telling Harry just how she and her roommate were becoming friendly and spent time studying together, as well as her hopes and dreams for the upcoming gaming club meeting where she wanted to start a _Dungeons & Dragons_ campaign with the club's participants; Harry did not have the heart to tell her just how doomed her efforts were, from the probability of those from magical families protesting the plausibility of the Vancian spellcasting system, to the likelihood of even those willing to overlook the incongruity of the magic system almost all wanting to play wizards, to just how much of the work she had done in preparation would end up wasted when players inevitably decide they simply want to do something else…

Arriving at their destination, they found Madam Pince was away from her desk at the front of the facility, likely making her rounds to admonish the students who were conducting themselves unbecoming of being at a library.

When she returned to her desk, the librarian favored Harry with a slight smile and a nod of acknowledgement; taking it as an indication she was free to help, Harry approached with pen and notepad in hand. A hurriedly scribbled exchange followed between the two, with the boy looking increasingly frustrated and the librarian progressively more apologetic as it continued, until the boy finally smiled tightly, wrote something on the page and gave a shallow bow before storming off as quietly and politely as possible.

Worried, Hermione followed her friend outside, catching up with him just as he stepped out of the library.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"Madam Pince would like to assist us, but can't," Harry said. "She's been expressly forbidden from providing assistance to students who want to research anything related to the subject we want to."

"Which is?"

"What's in the forbidden third floor corridor."

"Who forbade it?"

"Who do you think?"

"I don't believe it."

Harry started to snap an answer, but Hermione interrupted him before he could even begin.

"I know, reality doesn't care whether I believe it, any more than if I care if it believes in me."

Harry smiled tightly.

"Did you find out anything else?"

"I asked how many books total there are in the collection."

"How many are there?"

"Nearly fifteen thousand."

Hermione gulped at the figure. To own so many books…

"I could try to find something the collection," she offered.

"That'd be a waste of time," Harry said, saying aloud what she already knew to be true.

"Then what can I do to help?"

"When the books from the publishers start coming in, would you be willing to read and make notes for some of them?"

"I'd be happy to."

"All right, then, we're off to the races."

**~ooOoo~**

As Harry had expected, Hermione's first foray into trying to dungeon master went over like a professional wrestler getting pinned: it didn't. Not only were there numerous complaints about the Vancian magic system, as Harry had expected, even most those willing to look past that bemoaned the complexity of the game system, and of those who were willing to accept the structure designed by David Cook and TSR, nearly all of them laughed at the idea of a character without magic having any effect on the story; in fact, of the dozens of students she petitioned, Hermione only managed four takers: two Ravenclaws from normal families who were in the upper years, and the pair of Neville Longbottom and Fay Dunbar, the latter who was hankering for any sort of adventure and the former just happy to just be along for the ride.

Harry assisted the best he could during the first weekend of Hermione establishing the campaign, helping teach the system in detail and giving a little bit of advice to players and dungeon master alike, though he ultimately left the final decisions to those involved in the game. By the end of the Sunday meeting, Hermione had her players and their party of two mages, a druid and a paladin, and Harry felt comfortable leaving them to their devices, only occasionally checking in with Hermione to make sure it was going relatively smoothly.

It took two weeks for Martin to respond in detail; unlike the coded messages Harry had sent out or the falsified author of the return post, Martin's response was written in invisible ink with a more ordinary message written by Karen, posing once again as Hermione's mother, on top of it in a completely different color ink; to find the hidden message, Harry had to heat it over his stove, and only then did the research librarian's thesis appear.

In the meantime, the publishers Harry was in correspondence with had began to send him books referencing Nicolas Flamel and his work, and Harry had more than a few sent to him through the post, which his long-suffering roommate delivered to him from the Great Hall in exchange for a few luxuries from home that Harry had packed away in his haversack; the time he had previously spent on researching why he couldn't use his magic was now turned to reading through the volumes and making notes as they arrived, and Hermione was happy to invest with her own time into the project when she was not revising for lessons or preparing for the campaign she was running. They had become accustomed to using abandoned classrooms for their work rather than the library, as it gave them the freedom to talk to each other as they read and wrote while also affording them anonymity by being a random space that changed from day to day, making it nearly impossible to find.

Karen proved herself a masterful bullshit artist, weaving together a narrative of days she never had into a five page hand-written letter long enough to provide cover for Martin's entire essay; Harry could not help but admire just how well she made the imaginary life of Hermione's mother sound rivetingly mundane, filled with just enough detail to seem real and yet totally wearisome to anybody trying to read it for its content. That it was so tediously uninteresting in itself made the letter a work of art the boy admired, and he would study it long after his research into Nicolas Flamel was concluded to try to learn the secrets of its perfectly boring composition.

Martin's piece painted Flamel as a French scribe and manuscript seller from the turn of the fourteenth century who developed a reputation as an alchemist who discovered the secret of the philosopher's stone and achieved immortality through it, though such accounts did not appear until the seventeenth century, at least one hundred years after his supposed death.

Combined with their own research, the details painted a very vivid picture: Nicolas Flamel, the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone, possibly also called the Philosopher's Stone, was the partner of Albus Dumbledore in matters of alchemy. Flamel, who lived in Devon with his wife, used the Stone to produce the Elixir of Life, which apparently made the drinker immortal. The Stone also transformed any metal into pure gold.

"I could see why you'd want a cerberus to guard it," Hermione said after they consolidated everything they had learned, still scribbling in her notebook. Since returning from the break, Harry had noticed the proliferation of binders, notebooks, ballpoint pens, erasers and pencils amongst Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students alike, particularly those of normal background, and Hermione was amongst their ranks, clearly finding them far more convenient to write with than quill, parchment and inkwell. "Immortality and wealth… who wouldn't want it?"

"What do you want to do about it?" asked Harry. Their investigation had reached its natural conclusion, and it was time to turn it into action.

"What do you mean?" asked the Ravenclaw.

"You think you know what is being guarded," reiterated the raven-haired boy, his emerald eyes boring into the bushy-haired girl's. "What are you going to do with that knowledge?"

"Nothing," she said defensively. "I was just curious to know."

"Well now you know," said the boy. "And a little bit of knowledge can be dangerous."

The girl gulped in nervousness. "Maybe it was why Gringotts was broken into," she said.

"They were?"

"Didn't you hear?"

"I might have. Probably wasn't paying attention because nothing of mine was hit."

The reminder made him think of the paper-wrapped parcel the trog had taken from the vault; if that was the Philosopher's Stone, he at least knew the approximate dimensions it would be.

If it really _was_ the Philosopher's Stone, well, then he'd have to do something about it.

**~ooOoo~**

"Chocolate?" Harry asked, offering an opened bag to Hermione one Friday morning in February.

"Excuse me?" asked Hermione, confused.

"I made truffles," Harry said, once again offering the bag.

"Why? How?" Hermione asked, looking into the bag to see various spheres coated in dark brown powder, colorful sprinkles and bits of chopped nuts.

"It's Valentine's Day," said the boy matter-of-factly. "Well, for us, it'd be Pal-entine's Day, since we're just friends, but still, everybody loves chocolate, unless you're allergic, in which case I feel sorry for you. As for how, that's just a matter of baker's chocolate, heavy cream and controlling the temperature of everything."

"Where did you get the ingredients?" Hermione asked, tempted to have a taste but still wary.

"Brought them with me from home," Harry said. "Again, I only eat my own cooking."

Hearing this, the bushy-haired girl relented, taking a chocolate sprinkle-covered ball from the bag and taking a bite out of it. Instantly, her hand flew to her mouth as her eyes widened in surprise.

"It's really good," she said.

"The secret is the butter and the vanilla extract," Harry said, taking a powdered coated one himself and taking a bite.

"You must have gotten a lot of cards, being _the_ Harry Potter," Hermione said, remember just how much she had felt about Harry the first time she had read about him.

"I can see why you'd think so, but that's not the case," Harry said, smiling wryly. "They would need to be able to give it to me first, and that's not easy. I always wake up well before anybody else in the dormitories, so that eliminates the morning window for everybody in Hufflepuff or anybody who might see me passing through the halls; I never eat in the Great Hall, so that eliminates pretty much all the meals, and since today is Friday, I don't even have any classes besides Flying and the Astronomy practical, and I'm pretty much going to skive off Flying like I always do since the incident with the wall."

"I still can't believe you no longer go to that lesson," Hermione said, frowning in disapproval. "Even I've learned to fly on a broom, although I'm not the best at it."

"I don't need a broom to fly," Harry said shortly with a shrug. "It's a skill I'll never need because I've other skills that are better, and it's one of the most important skills to have. You'll be needing it sooner than later, so it's a good place to start your research into the arts."

"You're going to have to teach me that," Hermione said. "I know it's in the _Player's Handbook_, but I still don't understand how to do it."

"Well, the Hermetic method is based on research and experimentation; I can only help you along so much," Harry countered. "I've already taught you all of the Forms, Techniques and gestures I know; you need to figure out the rest for yourself."

The Ravenclaw frowned. "Can you at least tell me how you do it?" she asked.

"For one, I grow wings."

"You _what_?"

"I grow wings. I mean, I take of my shirt first, so it doesn't get ruined, but I grow wings."

"Do _I_ have to grow wings?"

"No, there's a couple other ways you could do it," Harry said. "You could use air to lift you off the ground and move you through space, you alter subjective gravitational forces to respond to your will alone, you could make yourself lighter than air and then release forces from your body to make you fly around…"

"I get it," interrupted the girl before starting to talk at Harry in French. It was something she did with increasing frequency whenever he irritated her because she knew it irritated him in turn, though she did not know he had been spending time researching and designing a version of _tongues_, a spell that would allow him to speak and understand any language, though the experimentation had hit a bit of a snag when he had decided he wanted to develop a prolonged adaptation of the cleric spell instead of the wizard one because it did not require the use of a material component.

Still, Harry envied her for her fluency in a foreign language; unlike her, he did not have any experience outside of the United Kingdom, and none of his friends, not even Jack, spoke a foreign language with fluency as far as he knew, even if Jason seemed to know fragments here and there, and Karen was happy to learn as much as she needed for her roles.

**~ooOoo~**

February quickly turned into March; on the last week of the month, Hermione began preparing for end-of-term exams, cutting down on the time she had for other activities, and because she was committed to dungeon mastering on the weekends, it meant she had less time to spend with Harry working on developing her grasp of the Hermetic arts, which honestly suited him fine, as it gave him more time to devote to the research and development of his own Hermetic arts.

As it turned out, that was all the extra time he needed for himself; on the last day of March, he finally cracked the design for _tongues_, and he spent the next day speaking only in Afrikaans, which was more than enough to confuse all those he interacted with when he continued to act like he was still speaking in English, selling the ruse by pretending nothing was out of place, even in the face of the bewilderment of everybody he interacted with. It was a good prank, even if he was the only one who understood what was happening.

On Sunday, he had the chance to put the spell through further testing, holding a conversation with _Zhang_ _Qiu_ entirely in Mandarin Chinese after she showed up with a friend to play a bit of _Pictionary_. Surprised by his fluency, she asked how he could speak with such effortless fluidity after telling her he spoke only a little bit in September; Harry answered with only a knowing smile and a half-shrug, using the mystery to draw her in and hold her natural curiosity captive. By the end of the club meeting, her body language had opened up, and the two were openly laughing and flirting with each other.

All in all, it was a good chance to practice being a charmer; with Karen as the go-to for faces, Harry didn't have the occasion to practice often, and he welcomed the opportunity he got. It was also an opportunity to practice deflecting and steering topics of conversation, and he enjoyed the challenge of dancing around what _Zhang_ wanted to know without giving away the game. Even if it was in a completely different language, the principles remained the same, and that was what mattered for the exercise.

Of course, she returned the next week, and the week after that, expecting more of the same, and Harry was more than happy to oblige; after all, one does not look a gift horse in the mouth, especially one that helps you get better at what you do.

**~ooOoo~**

When the professors piled on the homework for Easter break, many students complained about the increased workload, but not Harry. Then again, he was already the hardest working first year student at Hogwarts, even more so than Hermione, and he practically lived like a hermit, so all the assigned extra work disappeared into his calendar like it was nothing; all he lost was two days of research and development, only mildly annoying in the scheme of a two week long break with no classes to attend. Then, it was back to his regularly scheduled, well, schedule.

Having finished development of _tongues_ the previous month, he had spent the last week and a half focused entirely on the research and design of _disintegrate_, the most complex spell he was attempting to create to date. Functionally, it was one of the most useful spells he knew of, serving as a tool and a weapon the one time he managed to get a wizard to a level that could learn and cast it. The versatility, however, came with a cost: the Form and visualization could change from casting to casting depending on the target even as the Technique and material components remained the same, and that made the research process all the more difficult as he had to account for those parameters in the design of the spell.

Still, without classes to attend or revise for, he could throw eight hours a day at the problem, which was that was exactly what he did. It was the kind of single-mindedness that could be mistaken for obsession, but if it was, it still solved the problem, because on the last Thursday of the holiday, he made a breakthrough.

Let it never be said chemistry is useless to a wizard. It was in a textbook of the subject that Harry found the answers he was looking for: chemical bonds between molecules, but more specifically, the dissolution of them.

All that was left was to figure out just how to visualize it for all different kinds of complex matter. Once he had that, _disintegrate_ would be his.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Like I said before, food is very important to this version of Harry, partly because he's an extension of who I am. Being originally from Hong Kong, "Have you eaten?" is the typical way of asking "how are you?", so it's a huge part of my cultural personal identity, and it ended up bleeding into this version of Harry, although I think it makes sense, since he's been in the kitchen since he was quite young.

Since Harry never card cataloged his collection and is incredibly wealthy, it makes sense for him to outsource the finding of books. Given his positive relationship with this version of Madam Pince, who is much more like an actual real librarian, it only makes sense he'd ask her for assistance because he's not afraid to ask for help, and she's be forbidden to provide any, because that's something typically Dumbledore. It'd also make sense for the Hogwarts library's collection to be incredibly sizable just given the history of the school's existence.

Martin being a research librarian has always been his character and is not just an ass pull; it just never came up beforehand only because it wasn't relevant to the situation enough for any of the characters to make note of it. I do believe, however, that this reveals the professions of all the Irregulars; Ethan English teaches Economics at university, Karen North is a (struggling) actress, Rosemary Davies is a graduate student studying chemistry at Eastmere College and working part time at a lab, Martin Roberts is a research librarian, Jacqueline Murray is a software coder, Shaun Jones is a construction foreman, Sarah Williams is a sociology professor, and Jason Bourne owns and runs Bournes Comics and Games.

Yes, DMing for D&D is something I hate doing, even though I did it every day for four years in high school. At least it's not 3.5 edition though; at that point, Hermione might as well just give all her notes to the Wizards at the beginning of every session once they pass a certain level. Still, there'd be extreme difficulty in convincing Hogwarts students that D&D would be a hobby worth pursuing, particularly because of the dissonance between the game system and what the students are being taught.

More tradecraft, but that's to be expected of shadowrunner Harry at this point. I kind of feel bad for reducing Roger Malone to being Harry's gofer, but he was never going to be a character of importance beyond being Harry's roommate.

It fits Harry's character to want to do something when he receives actionable intelligence, while it fits Hermione to just want to know; it's what separates the scholar from the runner.

Truffles can be made from just baker's chocolate and heavy cream; simmer 2/3 cups heavy cream (1/2 cup if using milk chocolate) per 8 ounces of chocolate, then pour into chocolate. Let sit for a five minutes, then stir until chocolate is melted. Place a piece of plastic wrap directly on the surface of the chocolate (to avoid condensation) and refrigerate until the mixture is set (1-2 hours), then roll into balls and coat in cocoa powder, sprinkles, coconut shavings, etc. For extra creamy truffles, add a tablespoon of butter to the chocolate before pouring the warm cream over it; to give the truffles an extra pop of flavor, add a half teaspoon of vanilla extract after you've let the cream and chocolate mixture sit. They store 3-4 days at room temperature, up to 2 weeks in the fridge and indefinitely in the freezer. Hurray for food porn!

It's always been weird to me that Valentine's Day becomes a sticking point in _Chamber of Secrets_ but isn't even mentioned once in the text of _Sorcerer's Stone_; if Harry is really as popular as Rowling says he is in _Chamber of Secrets_, he should be receiving valentines even as a first year student. At least it makes sense in this version of the story, seeing as it's a Friday, so this version of Harry doesn't have classes he can't just skip and he's pretty much impossible to find due to his schedule.

I felt it was necessary to demonstrate the difference between Harry and Hermione's learning styles; while Harry is quite happy to just experiment and test things out, Hermione prefers to be told what she needs to do, possibly because she's lacking in imagination.

And _Zhang Qiu_ is back; for those curious, it's actually the official translation of her name in the Chinese edition of the books. Despite their flirting, there's nothing going on between them as far as Harry is concerned; to him, he's just practicing skills he doesn't have a chance to practice elsewhere.

Oh, you thought the title of the chapter was about Harry finally bonding with other people? That's cute. The knowledge of chemistry is way more important to this version of the character.

Review, PM... Like Harry making lunch, you know what's cooking.

Credit to Shinshikaizer for the original story pitch and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Furthermore, my thanks to Romantically Distant for additional editing and proofing.


	27. Harry's Run

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 27: Harry's Run**

* * *

"Can we talk to you after this?"

Harry looked up to see Fay and Neville standing at his shoulder, then back down at the pair of face-down cards he was peeking at, trying to determine if either could see what his hand was.

It was an eight of diamonds and a two of hearts; the dealer, a pretty older girl in a cardigan, burned a card face down, then dealt the flop, the ace and nine of diamonds and a six of spades.

With a look of disgust, Harry folded his hand and tossed the cards away from him, then stood up from his seat, scrutinizing the two. "Don't you two have something you should be playing?" he asked, scanning around the room for Hermione and the rest of the _Dungeons & Dragons_ group but finding them missing.

"McCrae blew up a town and Hermione didn't have anything planned for that," Neville said.

"Sounds like something that would happen," Harry said, remembering all the times his players ruined all the adventure hooks he had come up with. "So, what's up?"

The two Gryffindors exchanged nervous looks. "Can we talk about this in private?" Fay asked.

Harry checked his watch; it was a little past seventeen-thirty, so there was just about an hour left of gaming club remaining for the day. "Will this take long?" he asked.

"Probably not," admitted Neville. "But it _is_ urgent."

"I think the next room over is empty," Harry said, and the two shared another glance, then nodded in agreement before turning back towards him. "All right, let's go."

The three slipped out of the meeting unnoticed and quickly made their way to the next room; once inside, Harry turned to the Gryffindors, crossing his arms, expression expectant.

Neville looked a little nervous as Harry's eyes bore into him. Then, he threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "We didn't want to say anything, but since that time went to see Hagrid about Fluffy, Fay and I have been visiting him regularly and having tea and cake," he confessed; once the words had tumbled from his mouth, he looked both embarrassed and relieved.

"What's that got to do with me?" Harry asked.

"You said he stole from you, so we just thought you would hate him," said the chubby boy, suddenly looking very confused. "Don't you?"

"What do I care what you do with your free time?" Harry said, shrugging. "It's not my job to prevent you from making horrible decisions."

Neville let out a sigh of relief, then started to say something, but Fay interrupted, cutting him off. "He won a dragon egg in a card game and then hatched it in his hut," she said.

"Again, what's that got to do with me?" Harry asked, crossing his arms as he leaned his back against the door of the classroom.

"Hagrid's raising a fire-breathing dragon," Fay reiterated. "He lives in a wooden shack."

"Dragon breeding is illegal," Neville added. "You can't tame dragons; it's dangerous."

"And what exactly do you expect _me_ to do about this?" asked The-Boy-Who-Lived.

"Well, you figured out how to deal with a troll," argued the girl.

"By murdering it to death," Harry countered. "Do you _want_ me to murder the dragon?"

"What?! Of course not!" said Neville, nearly raising his voice in anger.

"Then I don't see what I can do for you," said the Hufflepuff with a shrug. "Why don't you talk to one of the professors?"

"We don't want Hagrid to get in trouble," said Neville, his tone pleading. "Can't you think of something? Please?"

"You might get what you're after, but if I _do_ do this, you do realize you _are_ going to owe me one, right?" Harry asked.

"Yes, of course," said Neville eagerly. "Have you thought of something?"

"I've had all of five minutes to think of something for this," the raven-haired boy said. "Who do you think I am, MacGuyver?"

"Who?" asked Neville.

"Never mind that," said The-Boy-Who-Lived. "Do you have any idea when the trog will be away from his humble abode?"

"Trog?" asked the girl, confused.

"You know who I mean," said Harry without actually clarifying.

"Why do you need to know?" Fay asked.

"You don't want to know the answer to that question," The-Boy-Who-Lived said, eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare. "Suffice to say, I'll figure out the dragon problem one way or another."

"No killing," warned the girl. "If we find out you killed him, we won't be your friends anymore."

"That's cute; you say that almost like you think it's a threat," Harry said with an ominous smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, his voice suddenly dropping low, and the Gryffindors shrunk in the face of unexpected amused malevolence. "_This_ is how you threaten somebody: you tell anyone about this, and there won't be enough of you left to become ghosts."

The Gryffindors swallowed in fear at The-Boy-Who-Lived as he stalked into their personal space to loom over them. Then, suddenly, his expression brightened into a wide smile. "See? Now that's how you threaten someone properly," he said brightly, almost as if what he had just done was meant to be a joke or a lesson of some kind.

Fay and Neville nodded stiffly, unsure how to respond otherwise. "We'll find out when," Neville croaked.

"You do that," said the Hufflepuff cheerfully, opening the door of the abandoned classroom. "Until then, I've got a game of Hold'em to get back to."

The friends watched as Harry departed, then shared a look.

"We did the right thing, right?" asked Neville.

"I hope so," Fay said. "I'm just glad he's on our side."

**~ooOoo~**

Legwork is always first.

With a bit of needling, he was able to discover the breed of the dragon, Norwegian Ridgeback, from the Gryffindors who had tasked him with the run; once he had that, he was back in the library, devouring just about everything he could find about the species. Unfortunately, details were fairly scarce; all he could really glean from his reading was they ate large mammals, including marine life, were less hostile than Hungarian Horntails, required a few months to develop their ability to breathe fire and had a venomous bite.

That last bit of information was alarming.

Planning came next. He needed a distraction, but he didn't have the time or the knowledge to make saltpeter, and he was certain that it was something Jason would never send him through the post, so a proper smoke bomb or flashbang was out of the question. Nonetheless, he could still make a flashbang fairly easily, albeit with danger to himself; he already had the materials, a knife and many cheap cigarette lighters, and he had once watched Jason make some for an improvised New Year's fireworks show with just those things. He also had some ping pong balls, which Jason had also used as part of the pyrotechnics show; when lit on fire, they produced a thick white smoke, which he could use for cover if absolutely necessary.

That meant nothing, though, if he couldn't get inside the hut; to scout the location, he started running outside in the morning even though the weather was cold and rainy, altering the course of his roadwork so that it went near the trog's hut and using small binoculars to look at the door, and lock in particular, from a distance. It was no surprise that was rusted metal on warped wood, but at least metal on wood was something he could handle with ease.

If there was anything his interactions with the magical world had taught him, it was that magicals liked to think themselves to be the pinnacle of wisdom and enlightenment, even though almost all of his interactions with them had proved otherwise. The books he had read described dragons as beasts, so that was going to be the last thing he believed was true about them; _Dungeons & Dragons_ and _Shadowrun_ had taught him many things, one of which was dragons were dangerously intelligent, and underestimating them always proved to be a health hazard.

First, though, he needed to get the lunk away from the dragon in his hut.

As it turned out, that was easier than he thought it would be; in the week after Fay and Neville asked Harry to solve the dragon problem, he noticed the lunk was ignoring his duties as a groundskeeper and it was starting to show. All it took was a strongly-worded letter, written anonymously and sent to the schools' Board of Governors, and the trog was soon once again out and about doing his duties, grumbling to himself and looking like he would prefer to be doing something else besides his job.

The first week the groundskeeper was back at work, Harry watched from the astronomy tower with his binoculars and timed the lunk on his watch between classes and independent study; once he was certain the groundskeeper would never leave his hut for more than ninety minutes at a time but still needed at least an hour to complete any set of tasks, Harry had his openings.

**~ooOoo~**

_Tongues_ and _invisibility_ were just obvious spells to cast before he embarked on the run; if the dragon had anything to say, he was going to want to understand it, and frankly, being seen breaking into the hut would be amateur hour. Even with that safeguard, though, he made himself the general description of Draco Malfoy with _alter self_; with his slicked-back peroxide blonde hair and fancy robes, Malfoy was one of the most easily recognizable students in the entire school, and that was exactly what Harry was counting on to keep himself distanced from the run.

It was the third Friday since he had been tasked with the job; with Hermione off revising on her own without him, Harry waited until after he saw the trog leave the shack to attend his duties before making his move, pulling out his earbuds and then making a beeline for the ramshackle hut under the cover of _invisibility_, his blood pounding in his ears in time to the beat of Ice Cube's "No Vaseline"; once there, he tried the door but found it locked and _knock_ed it open before slipping inside.

The first thing he felt was the temperature; even though it was cold and wet outside from the rain, Harry found himself immediately sweating into his clothes, which were already steaming from the heat, an unpleasant feeling given he was now wearing something both damp and warm.

_§Another human child, here to gawk at and grope me,§ _sighed a hissing voice from the side._ §What does it matter, you won't understand me anyways.§_

_§You'd be surprised,§ _answered the boy as he sized up the speaker, a brown-skinned reptilian creature the size of a large dog with a black ridge along its back._ §You got a name?§_

_§The big meatbag calls me 'Norbert',§ _answered the dragon in an almost scoffing tone.

_§That's a stupid name for a dragon,§ _said the Hufflepuff, and the dragon seemed to agree, blowing a puff of smoke from the nostrils._ §Why don't you choose a name for yourself?§_

_§What would I know about names?§ _the dragon snapped back, fangs bared._ §I just know 'Norbert' does not sound elegant at all.§_

_§So, elegant name, then,§ _postulate the boy, and the dragon's head bobbed up and down in what he could only guess was an imitation of the human nod._ §Are you a boy or girl dragon?§_

_§Why don't you check?§ _invited the dragon, then laughed, a melodic rumbling sound from the back of the throat, at the boy's gobsmacked expression._ §I am a lady.§_

Harry considered options for a long moment, digging through the numerous languages flowing through his mind courtesy of tongues before coming to a choice he liked._ §How about 'Liv'?§ _he suggested._ §It comes from the Old Norse word 'hlif', for 'protection', and, since you're a Norwegian Ridgeback, is also Norwegian for 'life'. Meanwhile, English people who live in this country will just think it's short for 'Olivia', which traces its roots to the Norwegian name 'Olaf', meaning 'ancestor's descendant'.§_

_§Liv,§ _the dragon repeated back, before saying several more times as though trying it out._ §Leave... Leev? Liv!§_

_§How does it feel rolling off the tongue?§ _Harry asked.

_§I like the sound,§_ admitted the dragon. _§Tell me: why 'protection' and 'life'?§_

_§As you've probably already noticed, we humans are just weak and short-sighted meatbags,§_ said the boy, having no idea of draconic psychology and hoping she had an ego he could stroke. _§It would be nice if a powerful dragon like you would devote herself to protecting us mortal races from threats we're unaware or unprepared for.§_

_§And why 'ancestor's descendant'?§_

_§Dragons are a venerable folk who have a storied history beyond human memory, and I thought it should never be forgotten.§_

The dragon considered the compliment-come-plea for a moment. _§Very well, then,§_ she said. _§'Liv' shall be my name from this day forth. Now, human child, What is your name and why are you here?§_

_§Do you want the short version, or the long version?§_ Harry asked.

_§Do you have a medium version?§_ asked the dragon, seemingly bantering.

_§Well, I'm Harry Potter, and the medium answer is, magical humans are incredibly stupid and think they know everything, even when they're clearly messing around with forces they don't understand in the least,§_ said The-Boy-Who-Lived, happy to humor the Norwegian Ridgeback. _§In their infinite wisdom, magicals have decided raising and breeding dragons is illegal, which is really stupid because their reasoning for that is dragons can't be tamed, except dragons are sapient beings, so really what's happening is they just want to feel better about themselves by pretending they're smarter and more powerful than the big scary dragons by saying you're all big and scary because you're not smart and can't be reasoned with. Any attempts to "tame" you would really just be enslavement with another name.§_

_§I don't know what most of that means, Harry, §_ said Liv, looking Harry dead in the eyes. _§But, I think I understand the gist of what you're saying: magical people are stupid.§_

_§Well, people in general, but magical ones in particular,§_ the boy agreed.

_§So, go on.§_

_§Well, stupid magical people say helping dragons grow up is wrong unless they get to decide how the dragon grows up,§_ Harry said, deciding it was probably for the best to streamline the conversation into something more easily understood by somebody with limited life experience. _§If they find out the big meatbag's been helping you, he'll get in trouble and you'll be put down.§_

_§Put down?§_

_§Killed. To death.§_

_§I don't want that to happen to me.§_

_§Neither do I. That's why the big meatbag never let you outside, and also why I'm here.§_

_§I want to go outside!§_ said Liv in excitement, hopping up and down on her feet.

_§If you just go outside, you'd be seen, and then they'd come to put you down.§_

_§What are we going to do?§_

_§Well, you are a fire-breathing dragon, and this is a wooden house.§_

The dragon took a deep breath and exhaled powerfully as if to demonstrate a point, but only managed to blow a small cloud of smoke out of her mouth. _§See? No fire.§_

_§I see. No fire,§_ Harry repeated back, nodding. _§Well, I'll just have to make a fire, then.§_

_§Even if we get outside, where would I even go? Surely they would try to find me?§_

_§Well, there is the Forbidden Forest. Right now, all you are is a rumor, but if you make it into the Forest, an argument could be made that there's nobody helping you grow up, you just showed up out of nowhere and took up residence in the Forest. It'd be pretty much impossible to prove without eye witness accounts, and none of the witnesses I know of want to see you dead.§_

_§But what would I eat? Where would I sleep?§_

_§There're rabbits and deer in the forest, though you'll have to hunt them yourself. As for where you'd sleep, I could help you build a shelter.§_

_§But I don't want to,§_ whined Liv. _§Here, I'm cozy and I have plenty to eat.§_

_§And in danger of being discovered and then put to death.§_

_§I don't want to die.§_

_§Nobody does.§_

_§All right, I'll go with you, but only because I don't want to die.§_

_§Clever girl. I'm going to start a fire.§_

Harry formed the _bodhyagri mudra_ with his hands then inhaled deeply before exhaling and incanting "_creo ignam_", the image of a jet of fire spraying forth from his fingertips in his mind. Quickly, he overlapped his thumps and fanned his fingers out, just in time for fire to shoot out of them and at the wall, setting the wood alight.

_§What did you just do?§_ asked the dragon, staring at the boy. _§I saw a glow enter you, flow all through your body, and then exit your hands as fire!§_

_§Astral perception, huh?§_ Harry remarked, remembering it as something paracritters were capable of doing. _§I channeled Astral power through my body, gave it form and purpose, then released it. That's how I use magic.§_

_§Magic? Astral power?§_

_§I'd probably be easier for me to show you than explain it. May I touch you?§_

_§Only this once,§_ Liv said, bobbing her head up and down.

With permission received, Harry lightly placed a hand on the dragon's forehead and focused, drawing Astral power into his body, letting it run through his nerves before passing it through into the reptilian creature. As he did so, he saw Liv's eyes go wide, almost as if in awe.

_§So that's Astral Power,§_ said the dragon in hushed tones. _§I think I've got this.§_

Inhaling deeply for a long moment through her mouth, Liv suddenly belched fire, sending Harry diving to the floor, out of the way. Turning, the dragon continued to spray fire everywhere, and the rest of the house quickly went alight.

_§This was a bad idea,§_ remarked the boy, realizing he was now trapped in a blazing inferno with a dragon that could probably survive it, even if he couldn't. _§Well, no time like the present.§_

Reaching to his waist, he dipped his hands into one of the belt pouches and quickly pulled out a test tube; a quick glance ascertained it contained a pinch of dust and a sliver of stone, and he pulled the cap and dumped its contents into one hand, dropping vial and cap into a pocket before clasping both hands together, fingers interlaced. Quickly extended both index fingers and pointed with them pressed together at his target, one of the side walls, and the one hopefully closest to the treeline of the Forbidden Forest.

_Kali mudra_. Dust and lodestone. A mental image of molecules coming apart.

"_Perdo herbam!_"

A thin ray of bright green energy sprang out of his fingertips, striking the wall he was pointing at; it glowed white for a moment, then suddenly a ten-foot square section vanished into thin air, leaving behind only a pile of dust. Seeing the treeline in the distance, Harry reached into his ever-present haversack, which he had chosen to conceal under his robe, and pulled forth a handful of table tennis balls, lighting them with a match before side-arming them out the gaping hole where there was once wall was one after another, filling the distance between the hut and the treeline with thick white smoke.

_§We should go,§_ said the boy to the dragon, who bobbed her head in agreement; hastily, they made good their escape from the hut into the Forbidden Forest under the cover of the smoke, and though it was clear from the outside the hut was unlikely to burn down in the falling rain, Harry did not want to risk staying at the scene of his crime longer than he had to.

The boy and the dragon ran headlong in the woodland, going for several minutes until they could no longer see where grassland met forest before finally coming to a stop. Despite his daily roadwork, Harry was out of breath, but that was to be expected for going at a dead sprint for as long as he and Liv had.

The dragon, of course, was no worse for wear.

_§Are you hurt?§_ she asked, looking closely at the panting boy.

_§I'm fine, just a little tired,§_ he answered, before looking around and realizing he had no idea where in the Forbidden Forest he was. _§Well, shit, I'm lost.§_

_§I can take you back, if you'd like,§_ Liv offered. _§It's the least I could do after you saved my life.§_

_§I'm good,§_ said Harry, closing his eyes as he dismissed the effect of _alter self_.

Before the dragon's very eyes, the boy's straight blonde locks melted into unruly black ones and he lost a few inches in height, all while his robe lost its fancy-looking decorations.

_§Harry? Is that you?§_ asked the dragon. _§What happened to you?§_

_§This is what I actually look like,§_ said the boy, peeling off his robe and then pulling off his shirt. _§I didn't want to be seen helping you, lest they try to get me in trouble, so I decided to look like somebody else.§_

_§I thought my eyes were tricking me because your meat changed right in front of me, but your aura remained the same,§_ she said, leaning in and nuzzling the boy's skin, inhaling deeply. _§You still smell the same.§_

Harry nodded, though he wasn't paying particular attention; he needed to cast two spells in rapid succession, both with the same Form and Technique but with vastly different gestural components and visualizations.

_Garuda mudra_. Wings sprouting from his shoulder blades. "_Muto corporem_."

_Tattva mudra_. His body disappearing from view. "_Muto corporem_."

And just like that, he had grown wings and then turned invisible.

With three quick beats of his newly-formed wings, Harry took off from the ground, flying upwards until he broke tree cover; looking around, he sighted the direction of Hogwarts Castle before descending back to ground.

The dragon was gone; in her place was a naked girl with long, tousled hair the color of mud, olive skin, striking eyes the color of golden amber and a single strip of jet black skin as wide as her fingertip running down the length of her spine.

"Liv?" Harry asked, surprised at the sudden disappearance of the dragon and the appearance of a female human who looked to be about his own age. _§Liv?§_

The girl blinked and opened her mouth, but no sound came forth; instantly, her eyes widened and she looked stricken with panic, breathing suddenly becoming quick and shallow.

_§Don't be scared, just watch me,§_ Harry quickly said, looking dead into the girl's eyes with as reassuring a look as he could manage.

Right hand at chest level, palm facing outwards, thumb and forefinger touching in a circle, left hand down by his side, palm forward and a circle also made with thumb and index finger: the _vitarka mudra_. Every single word in existence pouring into his mind. _"Muto corporem_."

That was _tongues_.

The girl's brow furrowed for a moment as she seemed to concentrate. Then, her mouth opened, and words came out of her mouth.

"Harry? Is that you?" she asked, before frowning again. "My voice sounds weird."

"Liv?" he asked, and the girl nodded. "That's because you're speaking English and not Draconic, or whatever the language spoken by dragons is called," Harry explained. "How are you able to do this?"

The dragon-girl scratched her cheek as she looked thoughtful. "I can't explain it," she said with a shrug after a long moment. "I could always see your aura, but after you let me feel how Astral power felt, I just knew how to make it do what I wanted it to do as long as I saw you do it first."

"That makes sense, I suppose," said Harry. In _Dungeons & Dragons_, dragons had an innate understanding of magic and could cast their spells with mere thoughts, so it stood to reason it was a possibility real dragons could do the same.

_§I'm hungry,§_ blurted Liv, suddenly switching to the language of dragons. _§I'm hungry!§_

Harry sighed. _§Better start learning how to hunt,§_ he said. He had still yet to catch anything, but now was as good of a time as any to try. And maybe even succeed for the first time.

**~ooOoo~**

He couldn't catch anything.

It didn't matter though; the dragon was a fast learner, and after learning the principles of stalking prey by observing Harry as he hunted a rabbit, she had it down pat. When the spear he threw missed and the rabbit bolted, Liv took off after it like a shot; by the time Harry caught up, she was back in her dragon form, vigorously tearing into the carcass and devouring it faster than a speed eater at a contest. As he watched, she stalked, killed and ate two more before finally being satisfied with her meals.

Next was building a shelter; Harry had barely managed to raise an iron wall out of the dirt before Liv began raising three more and then plopping a roof down on top of it all, thereby creating her own fortified home in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.

Liv was very much a magical prodigy, and seeing her effortlessly duplicate the magic he needed to spend so much time and effort researching, developing and experimenting with to master made Harry envious. However, all he had to do was remember she was a dragon, a creature of great intelligence and powerful innate magic, and he felt less bad about it.

Unfortunately, Liv was still all of three weeks old, so despite her intelligence, she still lacked emotional maturity, and when it came time for Harry to depart the forest and return to the castle for the evening, she made him promise to visit every day.

He might have solved Hagrid's dragon problem, but now he had a dragon problem of his own.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** It's the return of Shadowrunner Harry, along with a look at how a team would prepare for a run. As you can probably tell by now, Harry is very process-driven; in the legwork phase alone, he does research, reconnaissance, uses his contacts and performs social engineering, then uses magic just before the run to establish cover, prepare for non-hostile contact and improve his chances of a successful infiltration. This isn't your mother's Harry Potter, that's for sure.

Frankly, it's always weirded me out that dragons in the _Harry Potter_ series were treated as simple beasts; maybe it's because my background is in _Dungeons & Dragons_ and _Shadowrun_, where dragons are hyper-intelligent manipulators of events with indeterminably long lives. Whatever the case, I made the decision to go with the "well, of course wizards don't think dragons are intelligent, they don't speak draconic" as an explanation as to why dragons are treated as beasts; as to why Liv is able to use magic, it's because all dragons, like any other paracritters, have the Astral Perception and can see Astral power as it is being manipulated, but they don't understand how to manipulate Astral power themselves, and only after Harry lets her feel what it's like does she understand it, though, being a genius, she pretty much figures out how to use it to replicate things she sees Harry do immediately, so her first incident of fire breathing is less biological and more magical.

As for why Harry treats Liv the way he does, it's a sense of terror at a creature that could one day take over the world from his understanding of dragons combined with a healthy respect of her as a sapient individual; by believing her more powerful than he could ever hope to be, Harry can only do so much to her, so he feels his best option is to guide her into becoming a version of Arleesh, an idealistic greater dragon who uses her powers to protect humanity from magical threats they simply aren't prepared for.

I'm happy to nerd out on names a bit more; as for why Harry knows all this, I took a bit of a liberty with _tongues_, which allows its target to speak and understand all languages, to include understanding language sources.

Writing Liv is hard; I have to mix childlike innocence with a more mature ability to the world because of her hyper-intelligence, and frankly, I'm not hyper-intelligent, so writing somebody smarter than me is really difficult.

Add arson to Harry's criminal record. Then again, if you don't get caught, it's not a crime.

Liv getting a human form is important to her future in the story; as for why she can become human by copying _alter self_, it's because the 2nd edition version of the spell specifies "human, humanoid or any other generally man-shaped bipedal creature". Of course, having never seen a naked person, she looks much more like a Barbie doll than a real person, so it's kind of weird (at least for now).

I like Liv being an absolute prodigy; I feel it contrasts greatly with Harry, who has to scratch and claw for every inch he gets, and I think it's important to establish that this version of Harry isn't so much a genius like Liv but an exceptionally hard worker who is willing to put in as much work as he has to just to get to where he is now, and having a prodigy overshadow him affects his psychology. The only real downside to Liv's magic is she needs to see somebody else using it first, but that shouldn't be a problem for a dragon living in the magical world.

I will be moving cross-country in the coming week, so the next update may be delayed (though I hope it won't be).

Read, review, PM... like somebody rewatching a movie, you know how it goes.

Credit to Shinshikaizer for the original story pitch and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Furthermore, my thanks to Romantically Distant for additional editing and proofing.


	28. The Temptation of Hermione Granger

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 28: The Temptation of Hermione Granger**

* * *

When he returned to the Forbidden Forest the next morning for his usual foraging and hunting, Harry was almost instantly found by Liv, and she followed him through his usual Saturday expedition, chattering away in Draconic whenever they were not on the trail of a rabbit or a deer. Every time he missed a target, she would chase it down and devour it, and Harry found himself wondering whether releasing a dragon into the Forbidden Forest would impact the ecosystem in ways he had never foreseen.

Later that day, after the end of gaming club, he found himself being accosted by the Gryffindors who had asked him to solve Hagrid's dragon problem.

"Did you do it?" demanded Fay, almost angry.

"Do what?" Harry asked innocently as he continued to pack up the board games that had been used that day.

"Hagrid's hut caught on fire yesterday afternoon," said Neville. "When they put the fire out, Norbert was gone. Did you do that?"

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Norbert, the dragon," Fay said.

"She prefers Liv," Harry said before pretending to catch himself. "I mean, were there any witnesses?"

"Rumor is Draco Malfoy was seen going into the hut, and then it caught a little while later," Neville said.

"In that case, I can neither confirm nor deny any involvement in the incident in question," said the Hufflepuff lightly. "I would, however, like to mention that the bakebrain _was_ trying to raise a fire-breathing dragon in a hut made entirely of wood."

Fay closed in on Harry, incensed. "Harry, if you killed Norbert…," she snarled, seizing him by the shoulder and turning him around before pushing him backwards against a table and grabbing hold of his shirt collar.

"I didn't kill her, if that's what you're worried about," Harry said brusquely, calmly brushing the girl's grasp from himself with the back of his right hand. "You ever touch me like that again and you'll pull back a stump."

"Harry…," said the Gryffindor girl, a warning in her tone.

"I can't prove anything to you either way, so you either believe me or you don't," Harry said. "Just remember, you're the ones who came to me about this, so either you trust me, or you've made a terrible mistake."

He left it at that.

**~ooOoo~**

By the end of Sunday morning's foray into the Forbidden Forest, Harry was deeply annoyed by the dragon constantly showing him up, but at the same time, realized it was probably what Hermione must have felt whenever he tried to teach her anything or change her perspective. It was a humbling experience, an ego check, and it reminded him of how much work he had ahead of him in the future just to keep pace with any genius who might show up, let alone Liv, who he had no chance of ever being a match for.

Through it all, the dragon remained cheerful, alternating between her native form and a naked human one; were he anybody else, he would probably have felt embarrassed, but for Harry, it made no difference. After all, she was already naked all the time in her reptilian form, and she did not understand the human form well enough to reproduce genitalia or even nipples, so all it really looked like was a young girl in a seamless flesh-colored bodysuit.

When Monday morning came around, Harry was back to his regular class schedule, though he did make a point of checking in on Liv as part of his morning run before going about the rest of his day as he normally would. It was already the back half of May, and there was only fourteen days left before exams began on the first of June; unfortunately, with the additional time sinks the dragon required, he was not going to be able to spend as much time as he had wanted revising for the exams, because there was no way he was going to sacrifice time spent for his independent study of the normal school curriculum or for the research and development of his Hermetic magic to revise, and he would rather have inferior exam results than an unhappy dragon on his hands, so he opted to trade his afternoon library research sessions for time spent with Liv in the Forbidden Forest.

Harry's dragon problem was turning into a much larger time drain than he had ever anticipated, and he cursed himself for wanting to retain Dunbar and Longbottom enough as assets to burn so much daylight babysitting the reptilian creature instead of murdering her outright. Then again, if he worked it right, he could have Liv as an asset too, and there would certainly be benefits to having a dragon who could replicate magic by sight without needing any components as an ally.

**~ooOoo~**

The calm of the new routine lasted just a week and change; the following Wednesday morning, Harry took his usual run into the forest to check in on the Norwegian Ridgeback and found her au naturel, spattered with droplets of viscous, argent liquid and tearing through the carcass of a single-horned horse that laid in a small puddle of similar silvery fluid with her razor-sharp teeth. There was a savage beauty in the sight of the sunlight refracting off the pool, but that wasn't what Harry was concerned about.

"Well, I guess that answers that," Harry remarked, and Liv looked up from her meal. "Dragons are better than unicorns."

_§I didn't kill him,§_ the dragon said cheerfully, tiny morsels of meat tumbling from her maw as she chewed with her mouth open. _§He was here when I passed by this morning, so I thought I'd have breakfast.§_

"A scavenged killed?" Harry asked, and Liv bobbed her head up and down in what Harry could only guess was the dragon's version of a nod of affirmation. "How was it when you found it?"

_§It was dead, a cut its side, in a pool of its own blood, but otherwise untouched,§_ the dragon answered with her mouth full.

"Nothing harvested?" Harry asked, and the dragon shook her head vigorously, sending more tidbits flying. "What that's silvery stuff?"

_§Blood,§_ Liv answered.

With this new information, Harry assessed the scene again. "Adult humans have, what, about four-and-a-half to five-and-a-half liters of blood in them?" he asked, rhetorically, since there was no way the dragon could know the answer. "For a unicorn this size, this seems like an unusually small amount of blood."

The dragon once again did not answer, sitting back on her haunches for a moment as she studied the boy, who clearly had something on his mind. Then, she pushed the carcass towards the boy with her snout. _§Want some?§_

"I don't think I could eat unicorn raw without getting sick," Harry said. Then, he paused as he realized something. "You mind if I take the hide and the horn?"

_§The hide tastes terrible,§_ Liv said. _§If I could remove it, I would. And what would I want with a bone sticking out of a dead unicorn's head?§_

"Fair enough," said Harry, pulling out his switchblade and flipping it open before squatting down besides the carcass. He had read about skinning animals when he was researching how to hunt and prepare game, but this was his first chance to actually put what he had read into practice.

Carefully, he searched for an edge that wasn't badly shredded; once he found one, he slid the blade of the knife between skin and flesh, then started to peel hide away from the carcass, meticulously using his knife to cut where he could not pull the two apart. The entire skinning process took more than fifteen minutes; once he finished, he looked around, trying to find a place to clean his hands and blade.

_§What are you looking for?§_ asked the dragon.

"Water, to wash up."

_§This way.§_

The boy followed the dragon to a creek; once the dragon had a drink, he carefully washed his hands, scrubbing them vigorously with the gravel in the riverbed before finally shaking them dry and taking a zipper-topped plastic bag from his haversack and stuffing the rolled up hide into it. Stashing the hide in his ever-present bag, he then washed the switchblade before drying it on the hem of his robe and stashing it back in his pocket.

With the cleanup complete, the boy and the dragon returned to the carcass, and while Liv tucked into what was left of the unicorn, Harry tried his hand with the horn, first tugging to see whether he could get it loose that way, then trying his switchblade and finding it wanting when simple force was not enough to remove the horn.

Finally, Harry drew his friction folder, carefully flipping it open before lightly pressing the blade lightly against the horn; instantly, bone gave way like it was not even there at all, and in a heartbeat, he was holding the unicorn's horn in hand. Stashing it in his bag, he carefully closed the folding monoknife and returned it to his pocket, watching the dragon finished breakfast before saying his goodbyes and returning to the dormitory he shared with Malone.

There were so many questions he needed answered, but right now, he was late for his independent study of English literature, and he could not afford to fall behind, not with the disadvantage of having nobody to teach him.

**~ooOoo~**

Harry did not have time on his own to research the property of unicorn blood, not with the looming threat of the exams and his continued inability to use the magic taught in the lessons. Thus, it was not until after Defense with the Ravenclaws on Thursday that Harry finally had time to do something about the mystery on his hands.

"Hey, Danger, you busy?" asked The-Boy-Who-Lived shortly after the lesson had ended and the professor had departed for whatever his next engagement was.

The bushy-haired Ravenclaw looked up from her packing, sparing Harry a glance. "What is it?"

"Walk with me? It's kind of private."

Hermione Granger let out a beleaguered sigh; despite having not met with Harry to study the Hermetic arts since she began preparing for her exams, it was clear she was still under a lot of stress from her comprehensive revision.

Still, she picked up her bag and followed Harry out of the classroom, going with him in silence to find an abandoned classroom.

"So, what it is?" the Ravenclaw asked again.

"I need a favor," Harry said. "I need you to find out what uses there are for unicorn blood."

Hermione's eyes instantly narrowed in suspicion. "That's oddly specific," she said. "Why?"

"I found a dead unicorn in the Forbidden Forest with less blood than it should have had."

"You shouldn't have been in the Forbidden Forest."

"Well, I was."

"What were you doing there?"

"I have a dragon problem."

"A dragon problem?"

"It's a long story."

"Then give me the short version."

"Fine. The trog had a dragon egg that turned into a baby dragon. Dunbar and Longbottom approached me with a run to solve the trog's dragon problem, since he lives in a wooden house and raising dragons is a criminal offense. I did some legwork, then went and visited the dragon while the lunk was out doing his job. Dragon sets the house on fire, dragon and I escape into the Forbidden Forest, and the big lug doesn't have a dragon problem anymore."

"Except now, _you've_ got a dragon problem."

"Exactly."

"So, where does the unicorn come into this?"

"Dragon found a unicorn carcass. From what I could tell, it was missing blood."

"What makes you think that?"

"Pool of blood it was in was too small."

"Too small?"

"Average adult human has about five liters of blood in them? Unicorn's about double that size, but the puddle was smaller than if you dropped a bottle of milk and broke it."

"What about the dragon?"

"She said she found the carcass like that."

"So, dragons talk."

"In draconic. Or English, if she feels like it."

"And you believe her?"

"Something like that."

"That's why you want me to find out what unicorn blood can be used for."

"Yes."

"Why can't you do it yourself?"

"Well, there's the dragon problem, which is eating in my research time, my research into why I still can't cast any of the magic taught here, and my work on the Hermetic arts. Then there's the extra curriculum I have to study independently just to stay current with students my age who are attending normal schools."

"And you think I'm not busy?"

"You have a dragon that might burn down the Forbidden Forest if you don't visit it and keep it company regularly that I don't know about?"

"That's a good point."

"So, will you do me this favor?"

"What're friends for?"

"You don't want the answer to that one."

"I'll take your word for it, then. I'll see what I can find."

"Thanks, Danger. I'll owe you one."

"I'll hold you to that."

**~ooOoo~**

June came, and with it, end of term exams, two a day over the course of four days. With his relentless work ethic, Harry managed the written portion of every subject with ease, his revisions having covered far more than was on any exam. He performed well on the practical exams too, at least for Astronomy, Herbology and Potions; when it came to Charms and Transfiguration, he failed as miserably as he had expected, still showing no signs of being able to cast even the most basic of magic, drawing looks of disappointment from the professors as he stood before the combined class of first year Hufflepuffs and Slytherin students and fell short despite what seemed to be apparently perfect wand motions and pronunciation.

It was only after the final exam of the term, History of Magic, had concluded that Hermione approached him, catching up with Harry just as he exited the classroom where the exam was being given. A quick shared glance between the two, and they were headed for an abandoned classroom halfway across the castle.

"I found out what unicorn blood is for."

The words tumbled out of Hermione in a hurry as soon as she and Harry secured themselves inside the classroom.

"Yeah?"

"Apparently, the blood of a unicorn will keep a person alive if they drink it," the Ravenclaw said, talking rapidly. "They have to drink it right from the unicorn, though, but that'll kill the unicorn, which is why the drinker would have a cursed life."

"Huh," said Harry, processing the information. "Well, that explains a lot."

"Explains what?" the girl asked.

"That's definitely the Philosopher's Stone the cerberus is guarding," Harry said. "Both the Stone and the unicorn's blood…"

"Have life-extending properties," Hermione said, finishing Harry's thought. Then, as Harry rose to go, she asked, "Wait, where're you going?"

"To find Dunbar and Longbottom."

"Why?"

"You don't want to know."

"No, I do."

"You really don't."

"You know what? That favor you owe me, I'm calling it in. Tell me why you're going to look for Fay and Neville."

"You won't like it."

"I don't care."

Harry studied the girl's face for a moment, then sighed in defeat. "I'm going to steal the Philosopher's Stone."

Hermione seemed to be at a loss for words, opening and closing her mouth several times yet unable to utter any words for several moments. Finally, she managed to croak out, "Why?"

"There's only one person who knows how to make the Philosopher's Stone, and he's not sharing the process with anybody," answered The-Boy-Who-Lived.

"But stealing is wrong," Hermione argued.

"Flamel isn't sharing how to make the Stone," Harry countered. "He's had centuries, and he's still the only person who knows how to make it, which means he's hoarding the knowledge."

"Just because he's not sharing it doesn't mean you can steal it!" the Ravenclaw contended. "Society would break down if people went around stealing whatever they wanted!"

"People go around taking whatever they want all the time," Harry argued. "How do you think the Commonwealth came to be?"

"Just because it's been done before doesn't make it right!" Hermione protested, her voice soft.

"History is written by the victors!" Harry snapped back. "With the Stone, Flamel could solve global poverty, fund research to cure cancer and create clean energy, or even extend the lives of humanity's greatest minds! Instead, he sits on his ass and twiddles his thumbs, enjoying his retirement in Devon! Tell me, what's right about that?"

Hermione couldn't find an answer to her friend's challenge and could only look at him like she wanted him to stop.

"Listen, right and wrong is a line in the sand," said The-Boy-Who-Lived, pressing onwards. "Flamel had the Stone and so much time do something with it, and all he's done is a whole lot of nothing for no one, not even teach someone else how to make it so they could use it to make the world a better place."

"We don't have to steal it," Hermione pleaded weakly. "We could ask him for his help."

"Danger, he's had the recipe making the Stone for centuries," growled the Hufflepuff. "If he was going to share it, he'd have done so by now, and yet, he's the only person to have the knowledge to produce the Philosopher's Stone.

"This is the one and only opportunity you'll ever have to get near it."

Hermione looked absolutely torn over Harry's argument; she clearly had reservations about doing something she believed was morally wrong, even after he painted a picture of a selfish Flamel being in the wrong too, but at the same time, the temptation of a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to acquire knowledge almost nobody else had and a chance to examine a unique alchemical artifact was strong.

Harry could see her teetering on a decision; all she needed was one last push, and he was happy to give it to her what she needed to go over the edge.

"Someone else is going to try to steal it, and if they succeed, this chance will be gone forever," Harry said. "If we don't do this, you'll never find out anything about the Philosopher's Stone that you didn't read in a book, and we've already read _everything_ books have to say about it."

It was what she needed.

"Just this once," Hermione conceded, even as she looked conflicted. Then, "Why do we need Fay and Neville?"

"We're going to need a distraction to get in without being noticed," said The-Boy-Who-Lived. "Last time, everyone was at a feast; this time, the exams just ended, which means the hall is going to be full of people.

"Also, we're going to need an alibi."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** A shorter chapter compared to the previous couple, as it sets up the transition into the climax of the book. When the shoe drops, it drops hard.

It was necessary for Liv to just be on a completely different level than Harry; for somebody who is usually the most experienced and hardest working in the room, putting him in the room with an absolute prodigy gives him a sense of his place in the world, and it's important to demonstrate just how powerless he is compared to somebody with real power.

Harry being unembarrassed by human nudity is something that makes complete sense for him; in _Cyberpunk 2020_, nudity is an actual fashion choice characters can have, and in _Shadowrun_, nudity and sexuality is extremely liberated, so I see this as much more a cyberpunk influence on his cultural perception.

Harry choosing to prioritize Hermetic magic and general education over the Hogwarts curriculum makes sense for him; while wand magic is taught in the school, the other two are things he has to study on his own, so if he doesn't spend time developing those, he'll fall behind and have nobody who can really help him with either.

I love the idea of Liv as a scavenger, and the reason Harry finds the dead unicorn, since he was never going to get detention anyways. Also love the fact it's a scenario that gives him the chance to gather rare ingredients without having to actually kill a unicorn; in the future, I imagine he's going to gain even more rare ingredients and components for his crafting.

Hermione not even blinking at the idea of Harry having a dragon for a friend is funny to me, but also fits their relationship; at this point, I kind of imagine her being a little bit exasperated by his antics. I think her being willing to help him in exchange for a favor to be named fits into their relationship as well as her growth as a character by taking certain cues from Harry.

Up until now, everything Hermione's been involved with could be justified morally; the troll was self-defense, learning Hermetic magic was expanding her own horizons, and manipulating Neville and Faye to get information didn't really hurt anybody, but this time, she in a situation where she has to make a moral choice and consciously came down on the side of her own self-interest. I think this decision is a great look at just how Harry is slowly manipulating of her thought process and influencing her into becoming more morally flexible. I look forward to her further descent into being morally ambiguous, and I hope she eventually becomes a shadowrunner like Harry.

PM, Review, etc... I've run out of puns about this.

Credit to Shinshikaizer for the original story pitch and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Furthermore, my thanks to Romantically Distant for additional editing and proofing.


	29. Another One Bites the Dust

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 29: Another One Bites the Dust**

* * *

"I need your help. I can't tell you what it is, you can never ask me about it after we're done, and you could get expelled if we get caught."

Fay and Neville looked up from their card game; it was one of the things they had picked up from Harry they used to pass the time, and Harry had given them a deck of cards freely, knowing the small gesture would earn him some goodwill with the Gryffindors after the way the matter with Liv's extraction had resolved.

It had taken Harry and Hermione several hours and what amounted to a wild goose chase to track down the two juvenile stoners; they had tried Gryffindor tower first, only to be told the twosome had wander off, giggling to themselves like maniacs. From there, they followed the sightings through the castle, interviewing eyewitnesses wherever they could find them, until the trail finally led them to the abandoned classroom Fay and Neville had taken up residence for the afternoon, smoking and playing rummy, a card game the Indian twins had one day broached during gaming club and then proceeded to teach an interested audience to play.

"I'm in," said Fay brightly, tossing her hand of cards onto the table between the two Gryffindors.

"You're only saying that because you're losing," Neville groused, though there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. Putting down his cards, he asked, "What do you need us to do?"

"Come with, cause a distraction when given the signal, and alibi us if we don't get caught."

Fay and Neville shared a glance, then hastily grabbed the cards between them, fumbling to get them back into their box in their hurry to pack. In a few short moments, they were ready to depart the abandoned classroom.

"Let's go," said Faye, and Neville nodded in agreement.

It only took them a few minutes to get to their destination; as Harry had expected, there were students passing through the corridor, not enough to crowd the hall but still enough for there to be eyewitnesses. Pulling his associates aside, Harry drew them into a huddle.

"All right, here's the plan: Dunbar and Longbottom, go to the far end of the hall, and one my signal, cause a disturbance so Danger and I can slip in unnoticed," Harry said.

"What's the signal?" asked Neville.

"This is where Fluffy is, isn't he?" asked Fay at the same time.

"You'll know it when you see it," Harry said to chubby boy, before nodding at the pigtailed girl, who twitched an eyebrow upwards, not quite sure if he meant it as the signal or if he was answering her question. "All right, let's get in position."

Fay looked like she wanted to protest, but Neville was already heading off, so she followed him, though not without fixing the Hufflepuff with a stare for a long moment. Meanwhile, Harry wandered over to the door behind which was the cerberus, leaning against it. Pulling out his friction folder, opened it and slipped the blade between the door and the frame, hiding what he was doing behind his cloak; pressing down, he felt the mono-edge blade slice through the latch bolt without even the slightest of resistance.

Closing and pocketing his knife, he pulled two spray bottles out of his haversack and passed one to Hermione, who gave Harry with a quizzical look.

"It's for the dog," he said shortly, before nodding to Fay and Neville, who were in place.

"**I can't believe you did that me!**" shrieked the pigtailed Gryffindor, shoving her chubby friend hard with both hands, sending him stumbling backwards.

In an instant, all eyes turned towards the noise, and Harry grabbed Hermione by the hand, yanking the door open and pulling her inside before shutting the door behind them.

Turning, they saw the three-headed dog growling at them, fangs bared and drool dripping, a broken harp at its feet.

Without hesitation, the boy stormed towards the cerberus, squirting the contents of the spray bottle directly at the creature's heads.

Five million Scoville heat units is more than a million higher than any existing pepper, and two million more than the world's hottest commercial pepper spray.

The canine never stood a chance.

The instant the liquid struck the cerberus's nose, it jerked back as it struck, whimpering in pain even as the other two heads loomed ever-closer to the boy, who tore forward, spraying jets of the liquid at the remaining two heads, striking eyes and snouts and sending the dog scurrying backwards, cowering as far away as its collar and chain would allow it to all while whimpering in pain as it coughed, blinked, wheezed, cried and drooled all at the same time.

Hermione had followed her friend cautiously, not wanting to be bitten, but the sight of the cowering creature made her feel pity in her heart. She had imagined the boy would have a solution for getting past the canine, but she had never imagined it would have involved Fluffy being hurt in such a way.

"What'd you do to it?" she asked, as the boy pulled open the trapdoor.

"Pepper spray," said the boy shortly, peering down through the trapdoor. "The dog comes near, spray the damn thing."

"What'd you see down there?" Hermione asked, and the boy gestured for her to take a look; peeking over his shoulder as he turned his attention back at the dog, pointing his spray bottle at it and making it shrink back, she saw nothing but darkness. "I can't see anything."

"I know," the boy said, pulling a handheld torch from his haversack. Pointing it down, he lit it, and the beam of light illuminated the chute, revealing a straight drop with a plant at the very bottom.

"That's a Devil's Snare," said Hermione, recognizing it from the exam they had taken that week. "What's it doing down there?"

"Same thing the dog's doing up here," said the boy, digging through the pouches in his belt and retrieving a small vial holding a fragment of stone submersed in a translucent off-yellow fluid and dumping it into his palms.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"Killing it with fire."

The boy made a gesture, which she recognized right away as the _Kali mudra_; instantly, she knew it was a destructive spell, and she wracked her brain, trying to remember what spell he could possibly be casting.

"_Creo ignem_."

Before her very eyes, balls of flames formed in the boy's hands, and he hurled them through the opening one after another, one, two, and three. On impact, the plant caught alight, writhing and flailing its long vines in pain as the blaze spread; from above, she could see just how much it struggled against the pyre burning it alive, and she felt a knot in her stomach as she realized just how much plants could suffer.

Then again, looking at the boy, face hard as he continued to spritz pepper spray at the cowering canine, she couldn't help but wonder if the real monstrosity in all of this was the human.

As the Devil's Snare ceased its death throes, the boy gave Hermione a look, saying, "Remember, _feather fall_," then allowed himself to fall backwards through the hole in the floor, arms and legs spread eagle.

"_Muto auram._"

The girl watched as the boy's rapid descent suddenly slowed and he wafted to a landing on the floor below. Taking one last look at the miserable dog, she took a deep breath to steady herself, then followed the boy down the opened trapdoor, whispering "_muto auram_" as she fell.

Hermione Granger had never cast _feather fall_ before, as she had never felt an urge to fall from high places, but there was a reason why the spell was only first level: the name of the spell was also exactly what the effect was, and it was easy to visualize an image that the spell's name already put inside her head.

Thus, she drifted to the floor like a feather in the wind.

Looking up, she realized they had descended at least several stories from the previous floor, putting them underground, possibly below even the dungeons where Potions was taught.

"How are we going to get out?" she asked Harry, suddenly feeling trapped.

"Have you learned _fly_?" he asked, and Hermione shook her head. "Then you'll have to climb into my bag and I'll fly you out."

She wasn't happy with the answer, but she had no retort; even though Harry had advised her to not put off the research and development of Hermetic magic just because exams were looming, she had ignored his suggestion in favor of revising, and now she did not have a spell he had previously impressed upon her as being one of the most important.

"There's the door," she said, changing the subject so the silence wouldn't linger.

The two proceeded into the passageway, following as it opened into a luminous room with a high, domed ceiling; above them were a flock of small winged creatures, while a trio of brooms rested against the nearby wall.

"Grab a broom, it'll be your ticket out on the way back," Harry said, as he pulled a pair binoculars from his bag, looking upwards towards the ceiling. "Huh."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, broom in hand.

"Those are keys with wings," said Hufflepuff, before looking across the room at the heavy wooden door with a silver handle. "Bet you the key for that door is up there."

"But there must be hundreds of keys," Hermione said. "How are we going to find the right one?"

"We're not," the boy said, pulling a knife out of his pocket and flipping it open as he strode across the room, the girl right on his heels. Trying it and finding it locked, he slid the blade between door and frame, then pushed downwards before withdrawing it and pulled the door open; from what she could see, he had cut the latch bolt cleanly.

"How did you do that?" she asked, as Harry carefully folded the knife close and pocketed it even as he started down the corridor.

"Monoknife," he said simply, as though that explained everything.

"What's a monoknife?" Hermione pressed, quickly following after him.

"A knife with an edge that's one molecule wide," he explained, continuing down the hallway without pausing, forcing her to follow a stride behind at his flank. "Blade will cut pretty much anything because the edge is so thin, it'll slip between molecules."

"That sounds dangerous," she concluded, and the boy shrugged, making the light given off by the torch bobble up and down momentarily.

The room the passageway led to was darkened, but the torch in Harry's hand illuminated it well enough, revealing a giant chessboard that spanned the width of the room mounted with playing pieces far taller than either of the children.

Beyond the chessboard was another door.

Stepping into the room suddenly lit it up, filling the high-ceilinged chamber with light, and Hermione almost stepped onto the game board, only to be stopped by Harry putting a hand on her shoulder.

"What?" she asked.

"Cerberus? Devil's Snare? Flying keys? Those were all meant to be tests, which mean this is one too."

"What're we going to do? I'm not very good at chess."

"The solution's right in front of you, if you know where to look," Harry said, taking off his robe.

As Hermione continued to take in the surroundings, trying to understand what her friend meant, Harry continued to disrobe; his vest followed, then his necktie and his shirt. By the time she turned back towards him, he was down to the last of his upperwear, a white T-shirt emblazoned with three letters in red across the chess.

"What's 'N.W.A.'?" Hermione asked, then gasped as Harry started to pull off the shirt as well, quickly covering her eyes and starting to turn away. "Why are you taking off your clothes?"

"Rap group out of Compton," Harry said. "I'm growing wings; don't want ruin my favorite T-shirt."

"What, why?" Hermione asked.

"High ceilings," the Hufflepuff answered, as if that explained everything.

It took the Ravenclaw a moment to understand what he meant. "With the high ceiling, we can just fly over it," she reasoned, finally understanding what her friend meant.

"Not if you keep covering your eyes, you can't," Harry said. "_Muto corporem_."

As Hermione let her hands fall away from her face, she saw Harry for the first time without his shirt on and found herself impressed by what she saw; with his lean, athletic physique, it was clear he exercised regularly, and she could see clear muscle definition along his torso and arms, giving her the impression he could be a young underwear model. Before her eyes, large wings began to sprout from his back, the black feathered pinions giving the raven-haired boy with the dangerous emerald eyes the look of a fallen angel.

Hermione Granger couldn't help herself; she gulped and blushed at the sight, averting her eyes. She had never thought of Harry like _that_ before, but she felt a tightness in her chest all at once, something she had only heard the girls in her previous school mention when they talked about their favorite stars but had never felt before herself. Suddenly, she became aware of just how dry her mouth had become, and she swallowed, trying to moisten her throat.

"Come on, we need to go," Harry said briskly.

And just like that, she snapped out of it; Harry Potter just was not that kind of person, and she chastised herself silently for even having thought it in even a moment of weakness. He wasn't the brave knight on the fearsome stallion or the bright shining star, but the assassin in the night or the black hole from which nothing escaped.

"All right, I'm ready," said the girl, mounting the broom and kicking off from the floor, slowly rising up into the air. As she watched, the wings on the boy's shoulders flapped once, twice, and then he dropped into a crouch before sudden springing upwards, borne aloft by feathers and muscle.

They crossed over the chessboard without incident, touching down on the other side and striding over to the door, which, as she had come to expect, opened into another long, dark corridor; as they traversed it, something struck her.

"We know Fluffy is Hagrid's," she said. "The Devil's Snare must have been planted by Professor Sprout, and if that follows, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall must have provided the keys and the chessboard. That leaves Professors Quirrell and Snape."

"Yeah," said Harry, without even a hint of shock.

"Wait, how long have you known about this?" Hermione demanded.

"After the Devil's Snare," he said. "They don't grow in the middle of nowhere for no reason, so someone must have put it there, and the only person who could do it without really being in danger would be Sprout. Once you realize the first two obstacles were devised by staff, it's pretty clear the whole thing is made by them."

Hermione considered her friend's words, but before she could formulate a response, Harry had pushed open the door to the next room, suddenly filling the air with an unmistakable stench.

"Troll," said Harry sharply, tensing; besides him, Hermione drew her wand, though she was not sure if she knew any spells that could help in the situation.

Their alarm was unnecessary; on the floor before them laid a creature even larger than the one Harry had burned to death on Halloween, a lump on its head oozing blood.

As Harry reached for his knife, Hermione stopped him. "We don't have to kill it," she said. "It's already unconscious."

"What if it wakes up when we're on the way back?" Harry argued.

"We can deal with it then, but right now, it's not a threat to us."

Harry frowned, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as if fighting back a snarl. After a moment, he sighed and reached into his bag, pulling out a roll of matte gray tape. "Fine, but we duct tape its hands and feet together, so even if it wakes up, it won't be able to do anything. Now help me push its feet together."

Hermione wanted to protest, but Harry shot her a glare and she gave up; his relenting from killing the creature was already a small victory, and she decided to enjoy the win instead of trying to push her friend further.

It took them a good ten minutes, but they managed exactly what Harry had said they would do: taping the creature's hands and feet together through binding its feet together by wrapping both of its big toes tightly together with layers of the adhesive before doing the same with the creature's thumbs. Hermione, unused to the level of physical exertion, found herself sweating profusely and breathing hard, while the boy seemed no worse for wear than before.

"You know whoever set up _this_ test almost got you killed during Halloween, right?" asked Harry, drinking from a bottle of water before passing it Hermione, who took a long slug from it.

"I know," Hermione said with a sigh. "I'm trying not to think about it."

"Depending on the next test, it's either Quirrell or Snape," Harry said.

"I said, I'm trying not to think about it," Hermione repeated forcefully, and the boy shrugged.

"We should go," he said, and she nodded, letting him help her back to her feet, finishing the water before tossing the bottle into the haversack, which he held open for her. "She scores!"

Hermione couldn't help smiling at the moment of childish enthusiasm.

As they stepped into the next room, a violet flame sprang up behind them, blocking their retreat; at the same time, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward.

Between the two doors was a table and a line of seven different bottles. Hermione rushed over and immediately began reading the rolled parchment there.

"This must be Snape's," Hermione said, her brow furrowing. "It's a logic puzzle."

"_Perdo ignam_."

She spun back towards Harry, who had the finger of one hand in the fist of the other.

The flames at both doorways were gone.

"We should go," said the boy, and Hermione wanted to say something but stopped herself; despite being somebody who seemed to put a value on thinking, he had ignored the puzzle in favor of using magic to solve the problem, and she wanted to chastise him for that, until she realized he had just saved them the time it would have taken to solve the puzzle.

Together, the two descended the steps, stopping only when they entered the room to find Quirrell standing before a giant mirror.

"Oh, it you," said Harry, without a hint of surprise, pushing Hermione behind him.

She didn't protest.

Quirrell smiled calmly. "Me. I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

"Yeah, figured as much," said the boy.

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed coldly. "Yes, Severus does seem… wait, what?"

The man had stopped mid-sentence when he realized what the boy had just said.

"Pretty obvious, actually," Harry said with a shrug. "That stammer you have? You sometimes forget you have it and go a while without a single stutter, then suddenly remember you're supposed to have one and try to make up for it by stuttering too much. Dead giveaway, that one; you should have spent more time working on the craft if you're going to build a cover like that.

"Besides, once the potions were on the table, the troll was obviously you."

"I certainly have a special gift with trolls," said the Defense professor, snapping his fingers.

Ropes sprang out of thin air, wrapping tightly around the boy and the girl, binding them together.

"Now, Potter, wait quietly. I need to examine this mirror."

"Sure, take your time," said the boy calmly. "Let me guess, you did the unicorn too, didn't you?"

"Quiet, Potter."

"Seriously, though, if you're here, means you're trying to extend your life, because that's really the only thing I can think of that links unicorns and the Stone."

Quirrell didn't answer, staring longingly at the mirror.

"You know, staring at a mirror all day isn't going to make you any better looking," Harry called out, mockingly. "If you want to be a pretty, pretty princess, you're going to need a lot of makeup and a brand new dress to show off your assets."

"Stop it!" Hermione whispered, pinching Harry as hard as she could, to no reaction. "You're not helping."

The boy ignored her and continued taunting the Defense professor.

"What's with you being a fashion disaster, anyways? That great big turban does not go at all with the rest of what you've got on, and it definitely doesn't go with your eyes. Of course, your eyes are shit brown, so I guess nothing would go with them."

"Quiet!" Quirrell shouted. "I'm trying to concentrate!"

"You couldn't concentrate if you were orange juice," Harry jeered.

"I don't understand, is the Stone in the mirror? Should I break it? Help me, Master!"

"Use the boy…"

"All right, either I'm hallucinating because those potions are some really good drugs, or you should have gotten a job as ventriloquist; you'd be great at it."

Quirrell spun back around to glare at the tied-up boy, clapping his hands. As the rope fell away from Harry, he barked, "Come here, look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

"Yeah, you're going to have to do better than that," Harry said, crossing his arms.

"What?!" said Defense professor, clearly shocked by the boy's defiance. "Impossible!"

"Reality clearly begs to disagrees," Harry said lightly. "You know what's really impossible? Having just one Pringle."

"Cease your inane blatherings!" Quirrell shouted. "Come here!"

"I'd really rather not. My aunt always said to never go near suspicious adults, and a grown man who spends this much time eye-fucking a mirror is just, you know, really kind of creepy."

"Let me speak to him, face-to-face..."

"But master, your strength…"

"I am strong enough…"

"And now he's talking to himself, like a nutter."

Quirrell ignored the boy as he reached up an unwound his turban; as it fell away, he turned in place, and where the back of his head should have been was instead another face, one with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, not unlike a snake.

"Eugh, Two-Face, you're not at all like how the comics made you out to be," said the boy glibly.

"Harry Potter…"

"The fuck are you supposed to be?" Harry said. "A sapient parasite that ate Quirrell's brain?"

"_I_ am Voldmort," hissed the face, snarling.

"Fucking who?" asked Harry again. "Never heard of you."

"_Lord_ Voldemort," said Quirrell still facing away. "You know who he is."

"I really don't," Harry said. "Unless you mean 'You-Know-Who'."

"That's who."

"Who?"

"You-Know-Who."

"Oh. Wait, I don't know who."

"I think he means Voldemort is 'He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named'," chirped Hermione, trembling.

"Thanks, that makes so much more sense," said Harry blithely. "Leave it to a twelve-year-old to explain what a grown man and a Dark Lord can't.

"But yeah, no, I decline. There's nothing in it for me."

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "You'll meet your end, same as your parents… They died begging for mercy."

"Tell that to somebody who cares," Harry said, shrugging. "I mean, after we're done, you're just going to have to kill us anyways, right? We've seen both your faces, and since wizards can read minds, they'd just read our minds and know about you being back."

"Potter, there are ways to die, and there are _bad _ways to die," the Dark Lord hissed.

"Actually, that's a fair point," said Harry, seemingly thoughtful. "All right, I'll help you."

"Harry! No!" shouted Hermione, grabbing him by the arm. "You can't!"

"I can, and I will," said the boy, turning towards her face and winking. "Tie her up, would you?"

Quirrell snapped his fingers, and ropes instantly bound the girl.

Hermione watched in horror was Harry pulled away and walked across the room; time seemed to slow to a crawl, and the knot at the pit of her stomach tightened until it felt like her insides were twisting apart.

How could she have been so wrong? How could she have believed in him? Harry had never been a hero, and now, the Dark Lord would have everything!

She could only watch as the boy kept walking, until he was by the Defense professor with the Dark Lord in his head.

Suddenly, there was a blur motion, a flash of silver. Then, the once-turbaned man collapsed bonelessly and the boy stood over the thrashing body, bloody knife in one hand and a vial from his belt in the other.

Hermione recognized the _Kali mudra_ and saw the boy's mouth move, but what he said sounded distant, like she hearing him through water.

"_Perdo corporem._"

A ray of green light shot forth from his pointed fingers, striking the fallen man, who was flailing his arms about and sputtering, seemingly not understanding what was happening. The body glowed white for a moment, then suddenly exploded into a pile of dust, a black mist with an angry face rising from it and floating upwards, into the air, before wafting away.

"Well, guess this isn't over," said the boy, wiping the blade of the monoknife by folding the flap of his haversack over the spine of the blade and drawing the knife through gathered cloth before closing the knife and pocketing it. Quickly, he walked back to where Hermione stood, still bound in lengths of rope, cutting her free.

The first thing she did was slap him across the face.

"I deserved that," he said, then caught her by the wrist as she tried to slap him a second time. "I'm not giving you a second one for free."

"You could have told me!" Hermione huffed. "I thought you were going to help him!"

"That's the point," the boy said. "I needed you to sell it. Besides, there was no way I could tell you and not have them overhear it."

"What did you do?" she asked.

"Severed his spine about halfway up his back, then _disintegrate_d him while he was panicking and not quite realizing what had happened," said the boy calmly.

"You killed him," Hermione said, her tone accusatory.

"Had to," the boy said, sounding every bit like the fallen angel he looked like. "It was self-defense; you heard him say he would kill us when we finished."

The girl tried to understand what had just transpired, and more importantly, her own reaction towards it. Her best friend had just murdered a man in cold blood, she had witnessed it with her very own two eyes, and yet, instead of anger, disgust or even fear, all she felt was relief.

She realized, just because the Defense professor's death had been less horrifying to witness than watching the troll be burned alive, it somehow made it easier for her to stomach. That was a realization she found chilling, and she didn't like how it made her feel about herself.

The boy, her best friend, Harry Potter, was a stone cold murderer, and somehow, she was all right with that. And she was not all right with that.

Feeling torn, she wanted to question Harry more, but he was already walking back to the mirror.

"Quirrell said the Stone's inside the mirror, but it's just a mirror," the Hufflepuff said.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked, as she joined him at the mirror; in its reflection, she saw herself as the head girl, with perfect scores on every exam, surrounded by friends who sought her help and advice, while Harry looked on in the background approvingly.

"I mean, it's just a mirror," he said. "What's so special about it?"

"What do you mean?" she asked again. "What do you see?"

"Just my reflection, like any other mirror," Harry said. "Why, what do you see?"

Hermione swallowed, unsure she wanted to tell him what she saw. "It's… Are you sure?"

"All right, now I'm curious. Spill."

"I see myself, but I'm head girl, and I've got the best marks in the history of Hogwarts," she said. "People are asking me for help, and I'm giving them advice."

"Huh," Harry said. "Must be the tattoo."

"What tattoo?" Hermione asked, confused.

"I've got a tattoo," the boy said. "Blanks my mind. Makes it impossible to intrude upon, including controlling, reading or changing."

"Is that why he couldn't make you help him?" she asked.

"Probably," he said, rapping his knuckles against the mirror, which echoed a dull noise. "Well, only one thing to do."

"What's that?" Hermione asked.

"You might want to take a step back," Harry advised, and she did he suggested.

She recognized the _mudra_, _Ganesha_, for invoking the god who removed obstacles, as he made it, and she suddenly realized what he was trying to do.

"Wait!" she called out, but she was too late.

"_Perdo vim!_"

As she watched in horror, Harry's brows furrowed in concentration, and blood began to drip from first his nose, then his ears, and finally the corners of his eyes as he visibly clenched his jaw. She recognized it immediately, realizing he was doing what she had done the first time she had tried to use Hermetic magic.

Suddenly, the mirror exploded into countless pieces, and Harry crumpled limply to the floor and laid in an unmoving heap, blood flowing from every hole in his face even as his wings withdrew back into his body. Instantly, everything she had been taught about _heal wounds_ flooded back to mind despite her panic, she rushed over to her fallen friend, kneeling by his side and pressing her ear against his chest.

Hearing the sound of his heart beating and feeling the rise and fall of his chest, she calmed just a little bit, but it was enough for her to understand what she needed to do.

First was the _prana mudra_, both hands palms upwards at waist level, thumbs touching curled right and little fingers, index and forefingers extended together.

"_Creo corporem_," she incanted, and though she had no visualization in mind, all she could think of was stopping her best friend's bleeding.

She wiped away the blood that had flowed from Harry's eyes with a hand and let out the breath she did not realize she had been holding when no more blood seeped forth.

Still, he was not moving, and they could not stay there, where they weren't supposed to be.

For a moment, her eyes fell on the shards of glass, and she suddenly noticed the paper-wrapped package laying just at the edge of where the broken mirror ended. It had not been there before, and she could only guess at what it was, but if she was right, it was what they had come for.

Picking it up, she dropped it into a pocket in her robe, then stood up.

They needed to leave.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Once again, Harry uses Fay and Neville as assets. He might not trust them with his secrets, but he does know he can use them in ways that won't put them at risk.

I've always loved the conversation from _The Town_ between Ben Affleck and Jeremy Renner's characters, and the line, "I need your help. I can't tell you what it is, you can never ask me about it after we're done, and you could get expelled if we get caught." is my tribute to it.

I had fun with Fay play-acting; I almost had her knee Neville in the twig-and-berries, but decided that was a little too far for the little diversion.

Switching narrative perspectives from Harry to Hermione as soon as they start the gauntlet was something I thought was necessary to demonstrate just how far apart the two are in thought processes; Harry considers this entire venture an acquisition run, while Hermione doesn't quite know what she's getting into.

At his level, Harry had a couple solutions for Fluffy, but I ultimately went with the one that didn't involve him killing the cerberus, mostly because nobody wants to see the main character kill a dog. Still, with five million SHUs sprayed directly into its snouts, Fluffy would probably have preferred being dead.

If it had happened later in their lives, the experience of seeing both Fluffy and the Devil's Snare suffer would probably have driven Hermione Granger to trying to invent an artificial food supply that could be grown in vats, or maybe even Soylent Green; as it stands, I don't think she's quite ready to take that kind of moral stance yet, so instead, all this turns into another somewhat traumatic memory.

I wanted there to be repercussions to Hermione choosing to study for exams over working on her knowledge of the Hermetic arts, and not being able to cast _fly_ seemed like a good place to start, since it was something they had previously discussed, and it was something Harry had emphasized was essential to know. That the problem is then solved in the next room doesn't change the fact the experience create some changes to Hermione's character as a whole, mostly in her realization that she's going to need to do more than just revise for exams.

Sometimes, simple solutions are best, and this version of Harry is a proponent of that. Why spend ten minutes on something when you can solve it in a couple seconds?

Hermione seeing Harry without his shirt and suddenly realizing there could be more between them is something I feel plants an interesting seed that can be watered over time, even if, in the moment, she realizes he's not exactly the type.

It's a testament to his experience in Shadowrun that Harry still considers the troll a threat despite it being unconscious; the same way you'd never leave CorpSec just laying around because they're incapacitated, he wasn't going to leave the troll unrestrained just because it was knocked out.

Being out of shape would normally be a wake up call were it not for the fact magical society doesn't really seem to put a premium on being in-shape. A couple more times, though, and Hermione would probably realize she should do something about it.

Again, simple solutions. Why solve the logic puzzle when you can just put out the fire?

Once again, expectations and reality don't quite match for the adults. Harry running his mouth to try to get Quirrell to tilt fits the more mercurial, fast-talking parts of his character. The fact Harry doesn't even know Voldemort's name and it turns into a bit of "Who's on first" seemed like a fair callback to when he was reading about himself and He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named's name never ever comes up; I felt like Voldemort introducing himself was a really great time to finally have Harry put a name to the reputation.

Harry not caring about his dead parents is typical Harry; he's already moved on, bringing them up doesn't quite work out the way people unfamiliar with him would expect it to.

Momentary heel turn seemed appropriate to keep his cover long enough to commit an act of extreme violence, as is his wont. I also like to think Harry's green beam of light spell is way more useful than the one used by Voldemort and his compatriots.

Hermione having to hear Harry justify a pretty casual (on his part) murder two and experience her own muted reaction it felt like an appropriate development as she slowly becomes desensitized to the violence of war. The fact it wasn't nearly as horrific as watching a creature being burned to death probably helped in that regard.

As always, things Harry does in the past has unintended consequences in the future; the Mirror of Erised can't read his mind, so as far as he's concerned, it's a normal mirror. Really, he couldn't have helped Quirrell and Voldemort in the way they expected, but neither of them knew that.

Harry almost fragging himself in the pursuit of his goal might seem a little bit reckless and out of character, but for something as powerful as the Philosopher's Stone, it was a risk that made sense to him, particularly given he was in the company of Hermione Granger, who he had traumatized so she would have a healing spell burned into her memories.

Hermione saving Harry's bacon at the end of this chapter felt appropriate; in Rowling's original novels, she always felt like she was there but had little agency of her own, whereas having her make her own decisions and be integral to Harry's continued survival makes her feel much less like set dressing and much more like a character of her own to me. Going forward, I want her to have more self-determination, even if Harry doesn't quite witness it because he's too focused on his own problems.

One more chapter to go before book 1 wraps. I've run out of clever ways to say it, but please review, PM, etc.

Credit to Shinshikaizer for the original story pitch and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Furthermore, my thanks to Romantically Distant for additional editing and proofing.


	30. End of an Era

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Chapter 30: End of an Era**

* * *

"Ugh..."

Harry groaned as he returned to his senses. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, and it felt like somebody had been beating on his head with a sack of potatoes, a feeling he wasn't completely unfamiliar with.

Opening his eyes, he found himself look up at the expectant faces of his favorite Ravenclaw and two favorite Gryffindors, and he sat up slowly.

"Where am I?" he asked. "How long was I out?"

"Abandoned classroom, and a couple hours, so just after dinner time in the Great Hall," Hermione said, before wrapping him in a tight hug. "I was really worried about you there for a moment, you know? I thought we might have lost you."

"How'd we get here?" Harry asked.

"Same way you said you'd carry me out before we found the brooms," said the Ravenclaw cryptically; Fay and Neville shared a confused look, then shrugged. "I thought you wouldn't want to go to the hospital wing, given what we were doing, so I needed Fay and Neville to help me get you back out of your bag; you're heavier than you look."

"I hope that explains why I'm wearing a shirt now," said the Hufflepuff. "We get the thing?"

"What thing?" Hermione asked coyly.

"That thing," Harry said, and the two Gryffindors shared another glance. "Yay big, wrapped in paper and tied with twine?"

"Oh, this thing?" Hermione asked, pulling the paper-packed package out of her robe pocket and holding it up with a wide smile on her lips. "Yeah, it looks like I have it."

"What is that?' Fay asked.

Hermione looked to Harry for direction, unsure what to say next; everything she had done up until the moment had been in good humor, but she realized just then they were at a crossroads, and what happened next could affect everything to come.

Harry looked at the two Gryffindors solemnly. "Once in, never out," he said grimly. "We tell you what this is, you can never go back to the way things were before."

Fay and Neville shared a look, swallowing nervously.

"We're in," said Fay, and Neville nodded in agreement. "We didn't come this far just to sit out."

"All right, then," Harry said. "But before we continue, you'll need to swear to keep this secret to your graves and beyond. Word gets out, we'll all be in the drek."

The Gryffindors exchanged another look, then nodded in unison.

"I swear I'll keep this secret from anyone and everyone who isn't in this room," said Fay.

"I swear I'll keep this secret to my grave and beyond, even if I become a ghost," Neville said at the same time.

"Not that I don't believe you, but I'm going to need more than that," Harry said, reaching into his pockets and drawing his switchblade, flicking it open. "Call it a silly superstition normal people have, but give me your left hand."

Warily, Fay extended the hand the Hufflepuff had asked for, flinching as he nicked her palm with the tip of his blade, drawing an angry red line of blood before letting go and doing the same to his own hand.

"Shake," Harry said, extending a hand, and the pigtailed girl complied; when their hands clasped and palms touched, their blood intermingled. "Now repeat after me: 'I swear I'll keep the secrets of the circle.'"

"I swear I'll keep the secrets of the circle," Fay repeated solemnly.

"And now you, Neville," Harry said, and the two boys repeated the ritual with one another. Only after they were finished did the Hufflepuff say, "And now, we are blood."

Then, he turned to Hermione. "All right, we're good here. Show them."

Carefully, the Ravenclaw girl set the package on her lap and gingerly unwrapped it, revealing the red stone within. It was the size of a balled fist but oddly shaped, and seemed to glow with a light from within.

"It's beautiful," Fay said, before catching herself. "What is it?"

"Philosopher's Stone," Harry said calmly.

"How?" Neville asked.

"I can't tell you what it is, you can never ask me about it after we're done," Harry intoned.

"It was this?" Neville asked, realizing the implication.

"Yes," Hermione said.

"What are you going to do with it?" Fay asked.

"Divide it up, of course," Harry said, pulling out his friction folder and flipping it open. "Give it here, Danger."

"What if it breaks?" Hermione asked, tentatively.

"If it breaks, it's still the Philosopher's Stone," Harry countered. "We'd just have a lot more pieces instead of just a few."

The Ravenclaw grudgingly handed the Stone to her best friend, who placed it on a desk before hovering the blade over the object for several moments and then finally bringing it down on the bright red stone. Where the knife cut the Stone, the glow dulled, but when he was done, the two pieces each radiated a brilliance of its own.

Looking at the two pieces over for a long moment, Harry tossed one to Hermione, and though she nearly bobbled the catch, she managed to secure it.

"Mine?" she asked, and when the Hufflepuff nodded, she carefully wrapped the half of the stone back in the brown paper she had taken it out of.

Sizing up the remaining half, Harry carved off about a fourth of the remaining stone, then sliced that portion in half before handing the two shards to the Gryffindors. "Yours," he said.

"Why are ours so small?" Fay asked, not exactly an accusation, but not exactly not one either, even as she stared at the small glowing fragment in her palm.

"Your risk was low," Harry said calmly. "All you two had to do was cause a distraction. Danger and I did the heavy lifting, so we get more."

"So, then why does she get more than you?" Fay pressed. "It had to be _your_ plan."

"She hauled my ass out of there when I couldn't go on," Harry said. "Think of it as a gratuity."

There was no more protests, as both Fay and Neville were absorbed with staring at the glowing red shards in their hands.

"Remember, you can't tell anyone about this," Harry said, a reminder, and the Gryffindors nodded in agreement. "We square?" More nods. "All right, Danger and I are going to head out."

Leaving the stoners behind, the best friends departed the classroom, but they had only managed to get three doors away before Hermione grabbed Harry by the hand and pulled him into another classroom, a look of displeasure on her face.

"What was _that_?" she asked.

"What was what?" Harry asked innocently.

"That thing you did with Fay and Neville," Hermione said hotly. "And don't you dare tell me it's _just_ a superstition; you wouldn't do it if it was just that."

"You're right, it's not," Harry said calmly. "It's a blood pact, a type of ancient blood magic ritual that's actually practiced pretty commonly in normal society, though they don't get the benefits. Read about them a while ago; they're supposed to be completely unbreakable."

"You had me make a blood pact without asking _or_ telling me first?!" Hermione demanded, chocolate brown eyes fiery bright.

"Had to," Harry said, though he took a step back at the girl's apparent anger. "I didn't know if I could trust you."

"And do you trust me _now_?" she barked, stepping back into Hufflepuff's personal space.

"Of course I do," Harry said. "You saved my life."

Hermione glared at her friend for a long moment before her expression softened. "I forgive you," she said, enfolding her best friend in a comforting hug. "You're still a terrible person, though."

"I know I am," Harry said softly.

"So, what did you do to the mirror?" Hermione asked as she finally broke off the embrace.

"Something spontaneous to achieve an effect not unlike _Mordenkainen's Disjunction_," Harry said.

Hermione needed a moment to recall what that was; then, she gasped in horror. "But, if you used that on an artifact like the mirror must have been, you might have lost your magic!"

"I know," Harry said. "But after what we went through, I couldn't let it all be for nothing."

"But, what about your magic?" Hermione asked again.

"Well, I guess I better test it," he said, before glaring at the door into the room. "_Muto terram._"

Realizing what her friend had done, Hermione rushed over to the door, trying the handle and finding it refusing to budge. She pulled on it, with the same result, and suddenly felt relieved.

"Looks like my magic went nowhere," Harry said. "Guess I got lucky."

"Really lucky, you stupid… twit!" It took Hermione a moment to find the word she wanted, but Harry couldn't help but smile at the affectionate insult.

"Well, we should go," Harry said. "Tomorrow morning, in front of the library, just after breakfast? No lessons, no exams, so no excuses for skipping out on the Hermetic method."

"Tomorrow morning," Hermione agreed with a nod, smiling brightly, excited by the challenge.

**~ooOoo~**

Though he could not show it, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was in a state of panic.

Quirinus Quirrell was gone, and with him, the Philosopher's Stone and the specter of Voldemort.

That had not been the plan.

Young Harry had been meant to face the trials of the Stone with his friend Ronald Weasley and that hanger-on Hermione Granger before confronting Voldemort for the first time and learning he would have a bigger part to play in the war to come. It was why the trials had been designed in the way they had been, so even first year students could pass them with a little bit of thought.

Instead, Voldemort had absconded with the Philosopher's Stone, and young Harry Potter was none the wiser.

This was not good. With the Stone, he would be able to restore his body and become immortal; soon, he would be impossible to defeat, and his reign of terror would begin anew.

Furthermore, young Harry Potter had donated the Cloak of Invisibility to House Hufflepuff, leaving him with no method of retaking possession of the artefact without causing a public outrage that could spread beyond Hogwarts if the _Prophet_ got hold of the story; he could not imagine what could have driven the boy to do such a thing, and Dumbledore had nearly choked on a lemon drop when Pomona had cheerfully told him what had happened.

To make matters worse, young Harry was doing poorly in Charms and Transfiguration, two of the core classes in the Hogwarts curriculum, as well as Flying, which he had not attended since the original incident had sent him into a wall and then to the hospital wing; the public uproar would be deafening if he were to be expelled from Hogwarts, and thus it had taken Dumbledore all of his considerable persuasive powers to convince Filius and Minerva to give Harry no more than a grade of Poor in their subjects, arguing the answers of his impeccably-answered written exam more than demonstrated his flawless understanding of the material, even if he showed no practical aptitude for it, which he suggested was due to factors outside of Potter's control.

Looking out at the end-of-year feast, Dumbledore's eyes passed over the rows of students at the Hufflepuff table; as always, young Harry was nowhere to be found.

Drifting away through the crowd of students, his eyes met those of the Ravenclaw girl who hung onto young Harry's coattails, and in that moment, he decided to have a look at what she knew about Harry Potter.

One little peek wouldn't hurt; after all, her Muggle parents would never know the difference.

What he found there was no surprise: everything Hermione Granger knew of Harry Potter painted the picture of an ordinary boy, good in his classes but terrified of flying after the incident during the first lesson, unable to use magic but thorough in his knowledge of all magical theory, a sociable but otherwise lonely boy who spent more time with books than he did other people. Though he could not find any memories in Granger's mind of time spent together with young Harry and Ronald Weasley, that was to be expected; after all, she was just a hanger on, and Ronald Weasley was Harry Potter's true friend.

Satisfied by what he had found, even though it was of no help to him, Dumbledore allowed his eyes to drift away from the girl's.

The Ministry would not believe him even if he warned them of Voldemort's return, and they would never be of help until it was too late.

So, behind his jovial demeanor presiding over the end-of-team feast, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was panicking.

**~ooOoo~**

When the results for the exams were revealed on Wednesday, Harry was not surprised by what he received: Poors in Charms and Transfiguration, a Troll in Flying because he had failed to show for the exam, and Outstandings in everything else. He was lucky, in a sense, Hogwarts still followed the traditional of British educational system policy of promoting students even when they failed multiple subjects so long as they had not missed significant time with absences, and Harry had not missed a single lesson during the entire year, meaning he would progress to the second year even despite his abysmal showing in the practical spellcasting exams.

Hermione, of course, received the highest marks of the year, Outstandings across the board, and she was very proud of it; Fay had done likewise, albeit to a lesser degree, getting Exceeds Expectations in everything except Astronomy and History, where she earned Acceptable marks. Neville scored well too; with the aid of the natural, plant-based anxiolytic, he had lost his anxiety around the Potions master and earned a mark of Acceptable in his subject, and though the rest of his results weren't exceptional, he managed an Outstanding in Herbology that made him glow with pride whenever it was mentioned.

There was still a week left before the Hogwarts Express back to London, and Harry needed to square things with Liv. He would be gone from Hogwarts for the summer, and he was not sure how she would take the news.

**~ooOoo~**

Not well, apparently, although that had not been the type of answer he had hoped for.

After taking up residence in the Forbidden Forest, the Norwegian Ridgeback hit a growth spurt; now, she was the size of a large horse when she tucked her wings, which made it difficult for Harry to breath with her mounting his chest.

_§You can't leave me here alone!§_ insisted the dragon, her face inches from the boy's. _§What if something scary shows up? I need you here to protect me!§_

_§You're a slottin' dragon,§_ Harry hissed back. _§What the drek would scare you?§_

_§I don't know, but something scary?§_ Liv said. _§You have to stay!§_

_§They won't let me,§_ said the boy, then winced as the dragon pressed more of her weight onto his body. _§Wait, what if there's a better way?§_

_§I'm all ears,§_ the dragon said.

_§No, you're all dragon,§_ Harry quipped. _§I don't even know where your ears are.§_

_§Focus, Harry,§_ Liv said, leaning even further onto the boy. _§You were saying?§_

_§Well, maybe instead of me staying here, you could come with,§_ Harry gasped. _§You'd have to promise a few things, though.§_

_§I'm listening.§_

_§We'll be going into normal human society, so you'll have to stay in human form the entire time we're there.§_

Scales and flesh quickly melted away, and Harry found himself being straddled by a naked girl, albeit one without any sexual characteristics, giving her the look of a life-sized Barbie doll.

_§I can do that,§_ Liv said, grinning.

_§And you'll have to talk in human instead of draconic,§_ the boy said. _§Normal people would think it weird if you just kept hissing and growling instead of talking like they would.§_

"I can do that too," said the dragon in a girl's body.

"That's good, but you're also going to need to learn to act more human-like," the boy said. "If the normal human government finds out you're a dragon, they'll do worse than kill you."

"There's worse than dying?"

"There's dying, and there's dying badly."

"Very well, then, teach me to be more like humans."

"We got a week to do that, but you're going to have to work hard and practice even when I'm not around to keep you company."

"I can do that."

"Good."

**~ooOoo~**

Packing his things for the trip home was easy for Harry; after all, he practically lived out of his haversack, so he had never really unpacked into the room he shared with Roger Malone, who desperately tried to cram everything into his suitcase the night before departure.

The morning of the day they were to return home, Harry found Liv waiting for him at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, full of nervous energy. Quickly, he helped her put on clothes from his own wardrobe: a T-shirt, hooded jumper, boxer shorts and jeans; he did not have shoes for her, but the dragon seemed to enjoy the sensation of being barefoot anyways.

Nobody seemed to notice anything strange about the extra body during the boat ride across the lake and back to the train platform; as they boarded the train, Liv clutched Harry's sleeve, clearly nervous at the sheer crush of humanity around her.

It took Harry a few minutes to find the compartment Hermione had parked herself; when he rapped on the door, she looked up from the book she had her nose in, smiling when she recognized her friend and nodded for him to come in.

"Who's this?" asked the bushy-haired girl when the barefooted figure came into the compartment behind the casually-dressed boy.

"Liv, Hermione Granger," he said.

The girl frowned but stood up without a complaint; only then did Harry realize what was happening and shook his head. "No, no, no, that's her name," he said. "Liv. It's Norwegian."

"Oh," Hermione said, before extending a hand. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"I'm Liv," the dragon in a girl's body said in kind, grasping the proffered hand with her own. Greetings and introductions had been something Harry had focused on teaching her, and he was glad she had taken to it. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I haven't seen you around before," Hermione observed.

"I live in the forest," Liv answered.

"You're the dragon?" Hermione asked, understanding the implication, and Liv nodded.

Hermione spun towards Harry. "Why didn't you tell me dragons could take human form or that they could speak English?"

"You didn't ask," the boy said, shrugging. "And Liv speaks everything."

The Ravenclaw's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Then, the turned back towards Liv, asking "_Est-ce que tu parles français_?"

"_Oui_," answered the dragon. "_Jeg snakker faktisk bedre norsk._"

"I don't know what that means, but that's not French," Hermione said, looking to Harry.

"_C'est norvégien_," Harry said. "_Je parle aussi toutes les langues_."

"But, how?" Hermione asked, flabbergasted. "Just two months ago, you couldn't understand a word of French."

"I'm cheating. I've got _tongues_ on," the boy said, smiling wryly. "Liv's got it on all the time."

"Dragons can use magic?" the Ravenclaw asked, disbelief written all over her face. "Please tell me this is just a prank you're taking too far."

"Show her, Liv," Harry said, and the dragon in a girl's body raised a hand, a ball of fire suddenly coalescing an inch above her palm, floating freely in the air and turning in circles.

Hermione started to ask a question, but a knock on the door interrupted her; Fay and Neville were at the threshold, and Harry waved them in.

"Who's this?" asked Neville, meaning the dragon.

"Fay Dunbar, Neville Longbottom, Liv."

"Well that's rude," huffed Fay. "We just got here and isn't space in any other compartment."

"No, that's my name," said the dragon in a girl's body. "It's Norwegian, for 'life', and goes back to the ancient Norse '_hlif_', which means 'protection'."

"I'm sorry," said the pigtailed Gryffindor, staring at the ball of fire in the girl's hand as she stowed her luggage overhead. "I just thought Harry was telling us to get out. What is that? It's so cool."

"I was just showing Hermione I could use magic," Liv said.

"Of course you can use magic; you're a student at Hogwarts and you're not Harry," Neville said, shooting a teasing grin at The-Boy-Who-Lived.

"I'm not a student at Hogwarts," said Liv, closing her hand and crushing the ball of fire in it, sending tongues of flames squirting out of her clenched fist. "I'm a dragon."

There was a moment of dead silence. Then, Liv's face blanched. "Wait, Harry told me I'm not supposed to tell people that."

"Norbert?" asked Neville. "Is that you?"

"Don't call me that!," the dragon in a girl's body snarled hotly, flashing teeth as smoke wafted out of her button nose. "My name is 'Liv'!"

"I'm sorry, Leave," Neville apologized quickly, shrinking back. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"But dragons are supposed to be beasts," Fay said. "How can she speak English?"

"How many magicals speak draconic?" Harry asked, then waited only a short moment for a response before continuing. "If you assume an entire species are just animals, then of course you're going to assume they don't have any way to communicate."

"We have to tell everybody," Fay said. "If people knew dragons could talk, it'd change how they'd think of them."

"You can't," Harry said flatly.

"Why?" Fay demanded.

"Secret of the circle," the Hufflepuff said.

"But it could change the world!" Fay protested.

"It won't," Harry countered. "If wizards find out, they're not going to think dragons are sapient and they should treat them better, they're just going to assume Liv is the exception and they'll cut her up and try to figure out how they can use it against other dragons."

"I don't believe it," Fay insisted. "People care about dragons."

"I hate to say it, but he's probably right," Hermione interjected. "Human history is the history of people treating those different than them as less than human and just assuming they're savages with nothing worth saving, and that's just the way people think about other humans, not even a completely different species."

Fay looked to Neville for support, but all he did was shook his head. With a sigh, she slumped in her seat. "Fine, I'll keep it a secret."

"So, why are you on the Hogwarts Express?" Neville asked the dragon.

"Harry's letting me go with him so I won't be lonely over the summer," Liv said brightly. "He'll protect me from anything scary."

Neville and Fay both shot Harry a look, and all the Hufflepuff could do was shrug helplessly.

"Really?" asked Fay, flashing the Hufflepuff a mischievous grin. "Can you tell us about all these scary things Harry will protect you from are?"

It was going to be a long train ride.

**~ooOoo~**

"Hey Harry, this is my mom…"

The ginger never finished the sentence; without breaking stride, Harry swiftly struck him in the throat with a closed fist and kept on going, slipping into the crowd even as the ginger clutched at his neck and his older twin brothers gawked at the back of the limping Hufflepuff, mouths agape in awe at the sudden outburst of violence. A step behind him with a hand on his jumper, Liv blew a raspberry at the gathering of gingers; Fay had taught her the gesture while on the train, and it was suddenly her favorite thing to do. Harry could only hope she would grow out of it soon.

Harry jostled his way through the crowd, pushing forward with extended elbows that dug into flesh and forcing people to give way to his progress; unaccompanied by any adults, he was difficult to spot in the sea of humanity, and it gave him enough anonymity to avoid being caught.

Escaping platform nine and three-quarters, Harry flagged down a cab and rode it back to Surrey, unwilling to risk any more public transportation until Liv was better socialized.

Arriving at his new house, Harry strode to the front door with confidence, eyeing the lock briefly before incanting "_Muto terram_" softly; the bolt clicked unlocked, and Harry swung open the door.

"Surprise!"

The sudden illumination and sound of bursting explosive charge as he and Liv stepped across the threshold made Harry spin around, pulling Liv close to shield her with his body. A promise was a promise, even when it wasn't bound by blood or magic.

"Are you alright Harry?" asked a soft, feminine voice, and Harry turned towards it to see Karen, dressed in a baggy jumper that fell over one shoulder, revealing skin. Behind her were the other regulars from Bourne's Comics and Games, his Irregulars, though they all shared the actress's look of concern. On the floor were various paper streamers, and he realized the noise had been party poppers.

"Just surprised me, is all," the boy said, before releasing the girl in his arms and presenting her to his friends as he closed the door and locked it. "This is Liv. She's a dragon, and she'll be staying with me."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," said the dragon in a girl's body, curtsying with an imaginary skirt just as Harry had taught her to.

A moment of silence hung in the air awkwardly. Then, Shaun raised the beer in his hand as if to make a toast. "Leave it to 'Squeak to bring home a dragon. There's never a dull moment whenever he's around."

With that, cheers filled the room.

**~ooOoo~**

"Romy," said Harry with a nod as he found the graduate student in the kitchen getting herself a fresh beer from the refrigerator.

The initial flurry of activity had passed; he had already regaled his friends with his (sanitized) experiences of his second term at magical boarding school, and the party had broken up into smaller clusters. The dragon in a girl's body was still new and amazing to his friends, and it gave him an opportunity to slip away to talk to them one-on-one.

"Hey 'Squeak," Romy said. "What's up?"

"Got something for you," said the boy, before retrieving a small, paper-wrapped package from his pocket.

"What is it?" asked the noirette as she accepted the parcel from the boy.

"A piece of the Philosopher's Stone."

"_The_ Philosopher's Stone? Elixir of life? Lead into gold?"

"Maybe even more," said the boy. "I want you to find out."

"But I don't know anything about medicine."

"You could run tests, though, and you're still at university, so maybe you can find somebody in the biochem or medicine departments who you could have vetted and then work with to figure out just how much the Stone can do. But before that, you could work on the transmutation part of the story, see if it'll do more than transform metal into pure gold."

"Who would I even get to vet someone?"

"Jason seems to know people; I'd start with him."

"So, this is _the_ Philosopher's Stone."

"Well, a little less than half of it; I had to split it as payment for services rendered in a run."

"What have you been doing 'Squeak? What aren't you telling me?"

"You know I can't tell you what I can't tell you."

Romy sighed. "This isn't supposed to be how science works. I can't get this peer reviewed."

"No, you can't, and you can't tell anyone you have it, either," Harry said. "Imagine if word got out you had the secrets of immortality and unlimited pure gold at your fingertips; it might get stolen, or even worse, you might get dead."

The chemistry major nodded solemnly. "I'll keep it a secret; you can trust me."

"I know I can trust you; that's why you're the one I'm leaving it with."

Harry then reached into his pocket and fished out his friction folder, passing it to Romy.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Monoknife. Don't know if any other tools can cut it without causing it damage, but I know for a fact that knife can. I know you'll need to shave off pieces for testing, so I'm giving it to you."

"What about you?"

"I'll make another one."

"I'll be careful with this one."

"You damn well better; wouldn't want to come back to find you missing fingers."

**~ooOoo~**

While the others had sat down to _The Endless Summer_ on VHS in the living room, Harry decided it was time to take a tour of the house he had never seen after its renovations had been completed. While it hadn't been as he had imagined, he nonetheless enjoyed the open layout of the ground floor immensely.

It was upstairs where he found a surprise; though two bedrooms, including the master bedroom, were unoccupied, the third had its door closed and locked, and he found himself curious as to why that was. If there was already a tenant living there, why weren't they at the party? And, if they weren't at the party, what were they doing?

Harry rapped on the door with his knuckles, then waited, but there was no response; he was about to knock a second time when Karen emerged from the bathroom connected to the hallway and said, "That's my room."

"Did not know you lived here," said the boy, his face barely betraying his surprise.

"I hope that's not a problem, me renting a room in this house," the actress said, concerned. "It didn't feel right to keep living with mum and dad now that I'm a star on the telly, and I knew this house would be perfectly safe."

"Actually, I like it," Harry said. "Now I know I can trust the person who'll have the house to themself when I'm away at boarding school. I just hope you won't mind living with me and a dragon."

"She seems nice," Karen said, meaning the dragon. "A little childish, but nice."

"She _is_ a child," Harry said. "I'm taking care of her."

"You're a child yourself," Karen said. "You shouldn't have to take care of someone else."

The boy shrugged, changing the subject. "Hope you don't mind me erecting wards starting tomorrow," he said. "House may be physically secure, but I want to make magically so too."

"As long as I'm awake, I won't mind," the brunette said. "I can help too, if you need me to."

"I think I've got this," the boy said. "I've been researching the necessary runes since exams finished two weeks ago, so I've a pretty good idea what I need to do."

"If you need help, just ask."

"Okay, I will. Thanks for offering."

"It's always my pleasure."

**~ooOoo~**

"Not enjoying the party?"

Harry turned his head to see Jason standing at his shoulder; the boy had been looking out of the window in the master bedroom, watching the empty streets below with a sense of foreboding, and he was glad the shopkeep was talking to him now.

"You're not really just a shopkeeper, are you?" Harry said, more statement than inquiry.

"What's it to you?" Jason asked, eyes narrowing.

"I killed a man," said the boy. "Had to; it was me or him."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I don't regret it; he was possessed by the Dark Lord, so I did what I had to do, but I don't think this is over. I fragged the drekhead, but he's already come back from his supposed death once before, so what's to stop him from doing it again?"

"What can I do to help?"

"I have to go to war," Harry said, his tone somber. "I don't have skills for that."

There was a moment of silence between the two. Then, Jason spoke.

"My friend Jack, not our Jacqueline, runs a program in Nevada; I could probably get you into it for six weeks starting at the end of the month."

"I don't have a passport."

"Funny you should say that; I had one made for you after you came home for Christmas."

"That doesn't sound exactly legal."

"Neither is selling gold on the black market."

"That's a fair point."

A beat followed. Then, Harry said, "Liv will need papers and a spot in the program too; I already promised her she could come with me wherever I go. It was the only way I could get her to let me come back for the summer."

"How'd you end up with a dragon anyways?"

"I made the mistake of taking a run from an asset," Harry said with a sigh. "As you know, it's never a shadowrun until it all goes to drek."

"Still, a dragon?"

"Liv's not even two months old yet."

"In that case, she's a goddamn genius."

"Tell me about it; just being around her makes me feel inadequate. I'm just hoping I can mold her into someone in Arleesh."

"That's pretty ambitious."

"It's that, or she'll kill everybody when she realizes we're all just fragile sacks of meat."

"In that case, good luck with that."

"Thanks, I think."

"Well, it's nice to have you back, even if it's just for a week and a half."

"It's good to be back."

And it was.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And thus, the final chapter of book 1, and the longest chapter to date.

Banter between Hermione and Harry being intruded upon by reality feels appropriate, given Hermione's lack of worldly experience.

Fay and Neville becoming included in the group as tangential members who know some of the secrets but not all of them feels appropriate for the way Harry wants to use them. Making them swear a blood oath also makes sense for him, and it makes sense to have Hermione learn about it here.

I figured something that cut between molecules wouldn't ultimately damage the Philosopher's Stone in a way that would make it unable to continue doing whatever it is it does.

I like how Harry has to explain risk versus reward to Fay and Neville, but does so in a way that makes sense to their twelve-year-old minds.

Hermione forgiving Harry feels pretty in-character for her at this point, plus she already agreed to do so in their original blood pact.

And thus, Harry's first 9th level-like spell is revealed.

So, why does Dumbledore get nothing but lies from Hermione when he uses Legilimency on her? It's the blood pact she made, which forcibly makes her keep all of Harry's secrets, even against people she doesn't know are trying to steal them from her. Essentially, the magic of the pact has created a version of her mind and memories that feed nothing but lies to anybody attempting to gain information on Harry that he might want to keep quiet.

Harry believing he passed to the next year despite getting two Poors falls in line with what my research showed about the British education system, where a student could fail courses and still advance in years as long as they didn't miss significant class time, and it's the first time his expectations do not really meet the reality of the situation, which I feel is a nice switch.

Liv and Harry negotiating a deal so she can accompany him away from Hogwarts was an interesting bit to write; I chose to gloss over Harry training her to be human-like because it didn't stick out as something Harry would really fixate on as long as she learned quickly, and, being a prodigy, she certainly would.

I love the introduction and the running joke that people think Harry is telling them to leave when he's introducing Liv due to the pronunciation of her name. I also like her sometimes forgetting that she shouldn't tell people she's a dragon, given she's still only a few months old, which means she's not really completely mature yet despite her intelligence.

Harry instilling his paranoia on others just seemed appropriate.

I like using Ron as comic relief in the sense that Harry just inflicts violence on him whenever they interact.

Homecoming party! Harry does not deal well with surprises. I figured the main partying of the party wouldn't interest Harry, so I decided to focus on his individual interactions with people that tied up story points.

And it'll be off to America at the beginning of book 2, to learn properly how to be a soldier and a spy.

I wrote this entire "book" over the space of just over four months while between jobs with an additional three months spent purely on research; as I now have a full-time job, and the next book itself requires quite a bit of research, I expect I won't start publication of the the second book until the end of Q1 or beginning of Q2 2020, so until then, this version of Harry Potter will be on hiatus. The next book in the series will be entitled _Harry Potter and the Physical Adept_, and I will include a final update to this story when that book begins publication.

One last time for this book, please review and PM.

Credit to Shinshikaizer for the original story pitch and goalie12345 for copy-editing. Furthermore, my thanks to Romantically Distant for additional editing and proofing, Navn Ukjent for providing Norwegian translations, and FalcoD for providing French translations. I wanted to ensure the language used was linguistically accurate, so I'm very grateful for the assistance of my translators.


	31. Afterword

_**Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts**_

**Afterword**

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is the final update of _Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts_ and is a notice that book two in the series, entitled _Harry Potter and the Physical Adept_, has had its first chapter published. The ID code of _Harry Potter and the Physical Adept_ is **13461089**, and the series itself is now called _Harry Potter and the RPG Influences_.


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